Why?
by aliencatt
Summary: Why does Tobias Beecher reach out and open his heart yet again after all he has been through? Could it be the look in a pair of dark brown eyes? SLASH...F.A.O. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.

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Series-OZ ... Can be read as a Single ... but may help to have read "OZ Sucks"

Beecher/Alvarez

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**WARNING**... **READ AT YOUR OWN RISK...**SLASH...m/m... non/ con...rape...violence...character death...basically, another day in OZ! (so if you don't like don't read)

set in SERIES 4.2 somewhere

Disclaimer- none of these characters belong to me, they remain the property of the Levinson/Fontana comp.

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**Please enjoy. **

(and if you do, why not let me know.)

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==000==

Why is it that when all you want to do is give or receive a little bit of affection, the other always turns away or wants something more? That's what kept happening to him. When he had sought that touch, just some human contact to let him know he was still alive, still human himself, he had been turned away.

After all they had been through, all they had done to each other, all they had forgiven each other and now, when all he had wanted was that confirmation that he was still alive, Chris had turned from him. He had been humiliated in front of his new Podmate by his old.

He could of expected it from his new 'roomy' to try it on, obviously a user testing how far he could be pushed and to push that little bit further. But to hear the man he loved and he did, even now, more so in fact since having wronged him so badly, off handedly announce that he didn't care who 'fucked him up the ass' he felt his heart die. It was as if Chris had reached in a cold hand, grasped his heart and squeezed all the remaining humanity from it.

So, seemingly uncaring but feeling he could die, Beecher collected his shaving gear and calmly walked out of the shower room and back to his Pod. But it wasn't his anymore, the same room he had shared with Chris. The scant refuge it had held was now gone.

Over the next few months as Em City descended into madness, it just got worse. Turning to others to use and be used, finding cold comfort knowing he was only going through the motions of sex, without emotion, he brought death once more.

Believing he had already brought misery and death to those he loved, now it extended to people he didn't care about but still it was due to him, his actions, as he was told that his 'dick was lethal'. He could still see the image he had created sharp in his mind of all the graves he had caused to be dug, lined up in a row. Nine in total. He prayed it would never have to grow.

So he became cold, isolated, placing up a 'no go' area, not only to protect himself but anyone unwary enough to approach him.

And then he found that that small, shrivelled, cold lump of heart he maintained only to keep his blood pumping was broken afresh as Chris Keller was sent away. He had nothing left. Destitute. He could not understand how his blood still moved around his veins.

And a few weeks later, he also could not understand what compelled him to show that small kindness to someone else who seemed as torn up as himself. Did not understand where that small piece of sympathy had come from. He had thought that he had nothing left to give yet something in the man's eyes had called to him, dredging up emotions he had thought totally obliterated.

=0=

Working at the computer in Sister Pete's office, a prisoner was pushed into the room for a session with the therapist, the guard immediately ignoring them both and returning to a conversation outside. A brief glance and Beecher returned to his keyboard. The Nun having been called away over half an hour ago, on who knew what new crisis, the man would just have to wait.

He knew a lot about the presence behind him. He had had plenty to type into the 'bulging' file over the years. But all that he had ever had to enter into the psyche files had never been of use to him however. All it had done was given him a greater awareness of all the 'fuck ups' in this place. As if he didn't already know. He did not need to read about them. He lived with them every day. Hell, he had to contend with them.

Minutes went by and he could feel the tenseness emanating from the other man as if it were coming off in waves. Beecher thought about shutting down the computer and leaving but there was nowhere he wanted to go.

The atmosphere was distracting though. He could hear the shuffling of feet as the man fidgeted behind him. He listened for a while to the inane chatter of the guards in the corridor but they spoke of a world outside of this place and he found he didn't want to know. Sighing he returned his attention to the screen.

The sigh must have broken something behind him. "Beecher," he was not interested. "Hey! Beecher!" sounding anxious.

Shit! He did not need to have to contend with someone else's neurosis. Sliding around on his chair, he saw the thin figure standing in the exact centre of the room, practically jiggling from nerves, arms wrapped defensively across his stomach with hands clutching at the ragged hemmed sweatshirt he always wore. Beecher idly wondered that perhaps he only had the one, a faded dark blue, as he never saw him in anything else lately. "What?" he asked resignedly.

The man would not look at him, the eyes flitting everywhere seemingly taking in the whole room at once, constantly seeking out danger. He was safe enough in here but was Beecher? He didn't really care that much but the figure was strung so tightly, muscles clenched, never relaxing for a moment, Beecher decided that if it continued much longer something would probably snap and it would be a toss up if it were to be physical or mental.

Finally the eyes sort of came to rest on the seated man as he asked, "Where is she? Sister Pete's s'poused be here!"

"She got called away. I don't know when she'll be back."

This did not go down well, was not what the man wanted to hear. He winced seeming to shrink in on himself, a thumb taken into his mouth and the nail worried at as his other arm clutched tighter at his stomach. "But she's gotta be here!" and he began to turn in circles as if searching for the missing woman. "Got to see her! Don't wanna go back!"

Beecher didn't know what to say so shrugging he mumbled a useless, "Sorry," and turned back to the computer.

A rapid shifting and a hand grasping painfully at his shoulder as he was swung around on his chair. Beecher sprang to his feet ready to defend with that look of barely contained madness on his face which often gave others second thoughts, but the other had already sprung back, this time with both hands to his mouth. He was shaking his head in denial, the eyes searching Beecher's face never still. He relaxed slightly looking steadily at the frightened man. "I just...just want to talk to her," he was told in a small voice.

He sighed once more, "I'm sorry," and he actually found he meant it. "I don't know when she'll be back," and watched as the other turned away to lean on the desk, knuckles bone white as he gripped the edge, his head hanging.

Beecher didn't know why he did it, probably never would, but he slowly walked over and placed a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. He felt him tense up even more then, as he turned his head slowly to look at him, relax ever so slightly. They stood that way for what Beecher felt an eternity. He didn't know what to do now, if anything, as he looked back into those startled dark eyes.

He took a hasty step back dropping his arm as the man turned around to stand staring at him, confusion and wonder battling in wide eyes. Another step back as he thought he detected something else in the gaze, which had finally settled on something, on him. A hesitant hand began to reach for him but a movement by the door immediately caught the man's attention and relief flooded his face.

"Hello, Miguel. I'm sorry I'm late," said Sister Pete.

"S'Okay."

Beecher quickly turned to close the current file and exited the room, feeling confusion of his own and tried to seal back up his heart, wondering how that small bit of emotion had escaped.

==000==

The next time Beecher saw Alvarez he appeared calmer, much more in control of himself. He was seated at a table in the 'Bullpen', hands stretched out in front of him. They must have been fascinating as it was all he looked at. A wide berth had been left around him, his reputation enhanced by his escape. He had managed to stay 'on the lamb', on the outside for months and being caught once more had done nothing to diminish his achievement. His madness was respected too.

Spending time in the psyche ward or just out of your head always seemed to earn a healthy regard from the fellow prisoners who, for some reason, respected madness. Beecher had felt that regard himself on occasions. Wariness, if not fear, had much to do with it as inmates with a penchant for violence mixed up with a helping of psychosis were more unpredictable and therefore even more dangerous if pushed in the wrong direction. The slightest thing could be liable to set off a violent response.

Maybe his talk with the Nun had helped but looking closer, Beecher could tell the severe tenseness was still there. Alvarez was holding up a pretence, no doubt knowing any sign of weakness could be a death sentence.

He moved to the table occupied by Rebadow and Hill, choosing a seat where he could surreptitiously study the young Latino who in turn was studying his hands. He was greeted, nodded in return but did not want to be drawn into conversation. Respecting his wishes the two men, who he supposed could be called the closest thing he had to friends other than Said, carried on a gentle bickering about what, he took no notice. He was still puzzling out what had prompted him to reach out a hand figuratively, as well as literally, to the man in Sister Pete's office that afternoon.

Could he still be capable of compassion? All his emotions, the ones he allowed himself to have, had been reserved for his daughter, Holly and the baby he hardly knew. Harry was hardly a baby now but he still thought of his remaining son as he had known him, had last seen him, before this place, this Hell that had sucked all he had known of himself away along with the blood it had taken from him and forced him to spill.

Was it possible there was a path back for him? Could he allow himself to walk it if it truly existed? Could he trust again? Could he actually feel something other than coldness and hatred? That brief glimpse he had seen just before the Nun had walked through the door, a yearning, a calling, but for what? Help, sympathy, compassion? He had felt it tugging at someplace inside but what if he was wrong? What if it was just something he unconsciously wanted to see and had imagined? So many questions and he had not one answer.

He laughed under his breath causing a still in the conversation next to him and two pairs of enquiring eyes to turn to him. "Nothing," he said in response to the unspoken question, "Just thought of a sick joke." Before Hill could get a word out he stood and decided to go lie on his bunk.

No, he thought, he had to keep himself locked tight for it was just a sick joke, just his imagination and even if it wasn't, he could not afford to risk it anyway.

His course took him past the still figure of Alvarez and as he drew level he thought he heard a, "Gracias," but looking down, the man had not moved. His imagination then, and he continued on.

Entering his thankfully empty Pod, he climbed onto his bunk, laid back and attempted to harden his heart even further.

==000==

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

"But I got an appointment!"

Murphy sighed again trying to keep his calm. "Alvarez. I told you ten minutes ago. It's not till three. It's now only twenty to. Too soon!" The chief officer studied Alvarez, stood before him at the station, trying to appear cocksure of himself but Murphy could see the tenseness around the eyes, notice the vein standing proud on the creased forehead. He was much too eager to go and see the shrink.

He had seen enough TV and real life to know that patients sometimes became fixated on their doctors. Hell, look at O'Riely! But could Alvarez be fixating on Sister Pete? Surely not, but maybe he should have a word with her just in case? He scoffed. As if she wasn't intelligent enough to notice if it was indeed happening. Alvarez showed indignation, obviously believing that Murphy was laughing at him. "Okay. Okay," calling over another Officer, he instructed, "Take him to Sister Pete's. He can wait outside. Just anywhere but here!"

Alvarez practically ran down the stairs ahead of his escort to the bars, waiting impatiently to be let out of the Emerald City. Murphy had that wondering look to his face again. Everyday something happened to baffle him, much of it amusing, more not so. He shook his head laughing to himself.

The Nun was far from Alvarez' mind as he hurried towards her office. He knew she wouldn't be there as she always seemed to take a break before seeing him as if she needed to fortify herself. He couldn't blame her, he knew he was fucked up big time and he did appreciate her help, although he never seemed to feel any better. But now he wanted to see someone else.

The only thought that had fixed in his mind was that he had to thank Beecher. That one moment when he had felt a soothing hand on his shoulder two days ago had at first frightened him but then, on realising it was an extension of one persons feeling for another he had, just for those all too brief seconds, relaxed. He had wanted to melt into that touch.

At first he had been suspicious, but looking at the man's face, searching for the angle, he had not found one. He was sure that Beecher's face had been open and honest, reminiscent of a time past. Alvarez was certain the man had wanted to help him somehow and that simple touch had. He had been able to feel it for hours afterwards. He had turned wanting, he didn't really know what, an affirmation? More contact? But the move had broken the contact as Beecher had stepped away. Reaching forwards the appearance of the Nun had pulled him back.

He had been relieved that she had finally turned up to listen to him as no one else would now he kept his distance from the Priest. He didn't want to think about 'Him', so he brought his mind back to thinking of Beecher. He'd thanked him later the same day but didn't think the man had heard or he hadn't cared. Could it all have been nothing? Had he blown the incident out of all proportion? He had to know!

Reaching the office at last, he made to enter but the Hack stopped him, "You wait out here!" Damn! He looked through the door and could see Beecher sat typing. What could he do? There was no point arguing with the Hack and pleading was out of the question so, instead, he set to standing there, practically bouncing from foot to foot then took up a pacing, biting at a thumb nail, this last action unconscious.

It worked, the Hack had soon had enough, his patience already thin having to work extra shifts to cover absent co workers. There was always a high level of absenteeism at this place and the Hack constantly regretted his move here. "Fuckin keep still!"

Alvarez ignored him pacing back and forth, one side of the narrow corridor to the other. "All right! Enough! You're making me want to piss!" The Hack opened the office door and grabbing the piece of scum, pushed him violently into the room. "Sit! Don't move!" and pointed to one of the chairs by the far wall.

Briefly glancing at Beecher, who had looked up at the disturbance, Alvarez obeyed and sprawled in the chair closest to the computer. "No talking," and at that, the Hack went to lean on the wall opposite the door. He didn't really give a shit if they killed each other, but could do without the paperwork.

Beecher resumed typing. Damn, he could really do without this. He could feel the eyes boring into his back. Only a quarter to three, he had a foreboding that Alvarez had somehow managed to get here early and it was to see him.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, broken only by the tap of keys and the sound of fabric rubbing against the chair as one of Alvarez' legs bounced up and down, the heel causing a muffled tapping against the carpet. Nerves or sexual tension was usually the cause of that and Beecher prayed that it was the former; he couldn't cope with the latter. He was past that, did not need any entanglements. Could not afford them.

"Beecher?" followed by the sound of a nail being bitten. He tried to tighten the vice surrounding his heart, tried to ignore that Alvarez had gotten up and moved cautiously to stand next to him. "Beecher," a bit louder and a hesitant hand on his shoulder, quickly removed.

Sighing in exasperation, he sat back in his chair, turning to look up at the younger man. "Yeah," non-committal.

Alvarez glanced at the open door then just as nervously down at him. "I...I just wanted to say Thanks. You know...for last time in here?"

"No need," he turned to go back to work, after all he hadn't done much.

But to Alvarez it had been a lot. "I tried before...but you didn't hear me," he sounded sad.

At least now Beecher knew he hadn't imagined it. "I heard you," he found himself admitting quietly. He was staring at the screen but didn't see it as he felt fingertips on his shoulder again, this time staying. He turned his head to look at the hand as if that would dislodge it then up into those eyes.

He saw it again. A yearning, almost a pleading and he felt the bands around his heart loosen as it missed a beat. He was confused again. Just what was it he was feeling? Sympathy? Compassion? Pity? Or was it hope? And what, he wondered was Alvarez feeling? What exactly did he want? What did he expect? Beecher had nothing to give, he assured himself. Nothing he wanted to give.

But those eyes. He had never really looked into them before. These two men rarely had much to do with each other, aware of the other's existence but that was about all. He felt that he could drown in those eyes, just as he had in a pair of clear blue ones in what seemed an eternity ago. Oh Fuck!

Alvarez very slowly reached down and gently took hold of the man's left hand, the hand that had touched him so deeply and guided it upwards, desperately hoping that Beecher would rise with it. He continued to look into that bright blue gaze, fearing that if he broke contact, the other man would pull away or worse push him off. His heart was beating so hard against his chest that he was certain that Tobias could hear it. Tobias, he thought the name, repeated it, this the first time he had ever really used it in connection to the man.

It had worked. Tobias was now stood before him unmoving. Frozen for a moment, left hand on shoulder, right hand holding the other's, he had an image of himself waiting to be waltzed or some other old time dance with him in the female, the led position. It was ridiculous but he couldn't afford to laugh, too much was riding on this. He felt a tentative touch at his waist. All he wanted right then was this man to hold him, to capture some of that feeling he had had before. To relax. To be able to relax and for an instant, lean on someone else, someone else's strength, to be held safe, reassured that he would be okay. That's all. Nothing more. Just to be held. To feel safe.

Still searching those eyes, but unable to read what was happening in them, he spoke begging with his soul that this person who knew pain, heartbreak, would not turn him away. "Por favor... Please...Can I hold you?" he could not bring himself to ask, to admit that he wanted it the other way around, this had been hard enough. Beecher gave no response but he didn't deny him either.

Still moving, oh so slowly, so he would not break the spell, Alvarez inched closer and reached around the slightly larger man, his hands coming up to rest on Beecher's shoulders, his face lightly resting against the other's bearded one.

They were stiff, awkward and Beecher didn't know why he'd let this happen. He was sure he could feel Alvarez' heart beating rapidly against his chest and could definitely feel the quick shallow breaths against his ear which spoke of anxiety and above all, desperation. He sensed all the man wanted was that bit of human contact he remembered craving in what seemed a previous life before his feelings had been smashed and trodden down. He could remember how he'd felt and if he could prevent that from happening to this man, who so nervously held him now, he would not deny him.

He could not let him go unanswered and also because Beecher realised that, yes, he did still indeed have a heart, he raised his arms and gently placed hands on Alvarez' back. He felt more than heard the man's breath being sucked in then a sigh so large he could feel it go all the way through him as suddenly, Miguel Alvarez relaxed against him.

His face buried itself in his neck and a weight seemed to lift from the man as Beecher found he had to brace himself as he held them both up. Miguel sank into him as if letting everything go. Somehow Beecher felt rewarded. It gave him a small sense of pride that he could still affect someone so greatly and in a good way.

A sob wracked the whole of Alvarez' body as he felt himself being hugged, a hand on the back of his neck, the other arm tight across his back. He sank further into the warmth, the strength he could sense holding him up. He was amazed that he could feel this, feel safe and secure. Nothing could touch him here in this man's arms. All he had wanted was a touch of kindness and now he clung on, never wanting the feeling to end.

Eyes closed, he could feel the man's pulse against his lips. He opened his mouth and pressed his lips tighter against the soft flesh wanting to taste but fearing he would be going too far and scare the man off in his need. So Alvarez slowly dragged his face upwards to rest his cheek on a shoulder, breathing into that neck. An intense moment of joy and relief at the hand on the back of his head holding him, cradling him as if to say, yes, this is where you belong.

Sister Pete had been surprised to say the least on entering her office, coming up short at the scene before her. She was about to break it up until she saw Miguel's face emerge from Beecher's neck. Eyes closed, he looked at peace. It was the first time she had ever really seen it. All the lines that would etch into his face when it screwed up, all the tension, the squinting she always saw around the eyes were gone. The only sign of his usual anxiety was his hands clutching at the other man's shoulders, digging in so hard that surely it must be hurting Tobias but he was still, just holding him.

She sensed that it was comfort being given and received, not anything sexual in nature and began to think furiously. She was also aware that if she made her presence known now it would embarrass both men and neither needed that. Retreating she backed into the corridor and speaking loudly, perhaps a little too loudly, she asked the guard how his family was. A few more pleasantries were exchanged and when she entered the office as if for the first time, it was to find Beecher looking up from his keyboard and Alvarez sat staring at the rose on his hand, a frown to his face. "Hello Miguel. Tobias would you leave us please?"

"Sure Sister," and as he left, she watched an idea forming.

=0=

"No. I'll say it again. No!"

"But Tim, think about this. It could just work." Pete was getting vexed which was rare but she was so sure her idea would work and after all, nothing else any of them had tried had and this would be good for both of them. "Miguel obviously feels comfortable around him and Tobias needs something, someone to care about. He would be a calming influence on Miguel and if..."

"Calming? And if what you're saying is true they'd only end up fucking each other!" McManus saw the look on the Nun's face. Abashed he added, "I'm sorry, but it's true!"

Peter Marie was perplexed, it was such a possible solution. "So what if they do?"

It was McManus' turn to be shocked. "You can't possibly mean that?"

"Yes, I do. After all they've been through, what harm would it do?" she thought she sounded reasonable enough.

"For one thing, it's against the rules!"

Pete laughed, "Oh, Tim. You're not so naive and anyway I don't think it's like that. It's two people in need who could possibly help each other."

"You seem to forget that these men are Criminals. They deserve all the shit that happens to them."

"I know you don't believe that and in any case, they are patients to me. They need help...a lot of it!" Ray had agreed it a reasonable idea although with some reservations but having convinced him maybe she should ask him to have a run at Tim who was being particularly obstinate. It had taken enough to get Miguel back into Em City and out of the psyche ward but this would work. She knew it.

McManus stood looking at her. "I'll think about it."

"Thank you, Tim," she said placing a hand at his shoulder before turning to leave. She smiled on her way out. She was winning. And he knew it.

==000==

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

In the queue for breakfast, Beecher felt on edge. After a night spent wrestling with his own mind, he was in no mood for the familiar antics going on around him. Giving out the mad bastard vibes, he managed to make it to his usual table without being hassled. He sat hunched over his food knowing he was being closely observed. You soon acquired radar to let you know how much attention you were receiving and he had honed his in the last year.

As the table was filled by the chattering group which considered him one of their own, he once more mulled over his night time thoughts. He had let his guard down and allowed someone to slip through. But what did he really want? Did Alvarez just want the odd touch and occasional reassurance? Or something more, something different?

Surely not, as he remembered the derogatory names the man had called him in those days he had been forced to wear the lipstick. But he hadn't missed the lips dragged up his neck or the fact that he had relished the movement. The moist warmth of that dragged bottom lip had caused feeling elsewhere than on his neck. But was he reaching for something that wasn't there? Had it been intentional or an accident on the Latino's part?

He glanced up without moving his head knowing exactly where the subject of his deliberations sat a couple of tables across, off to his right and saw Alvarez drop his gaze to the food he was toying with. Throwing down his fork he let out a growl as he held his head in propped hands. "The foods not that bad!" laughed Bob and Beecher swivelled slightly to look at the older man

"Only if your taste buds are dead," making a joke of it was, he felt, a safe subject as his real thoughts were not.

"It won't take long eating this," supplied Brusmalis continuing to shovel the stuff in.

Rebadow peered closely at Beecher, concern on his face, "Toby, is something wrong? It's not the food is it?" Beecher picked up his fork and fed himself something not quite sure what it was supposed to be and tried to think of something to say. He didn't want to lie. Rebadow was one of the very few people here he had any kind of respect for, always seeming so calm, he was like fresh air amongst all the foulness.

He would like to have spoken with the man but with Brusmalis' eager ears across from them he gave a look that he hoped spoke of not here, not now and Bob thankfully took the hint saying no more. He glanced off to the right, caught Alvarez watching him once more and decided to leave. Disposing of his unfinished tray he headed back to Em City where it should hopefully be quiet so he could think.

On being passed through the gates, he headed into the brightly-lit arena but, not wanting to go into his Pod, headed to the stairs up to the classroom. Secluded, quiet, he sat half way up, chin on hand and tried to decide what to do. Should he push the man away? Make it clear he had been coerced into showing affection? Sympathy, he corrected himself. That would be the sensible thing, the wisest decision, but he had felt something too. He had felt needed. And it was so good to feel that after so long.

Thinking back, he knew Chris had never needed him, wanted yes and loved, he truly believed that Chris had loved him but had never needed him. Not like he himself had needed Chris and when he had truly needed him, he'd been turned away. He could not do that to someone else, especially as he had the sense it was a need for comfort and companionship that Alvarez wanted, not lust.

But he wasn't sure and if it was indeed lust or something similar, he also wasn't sure that he might not just welcome it a little bit. Would he act upon it though? Judging by how fragile Alvarez appeared to be on the two occasions they'd been alone together, it would be so easy to get him to 'give it up', but that smacked of using, taking advantage and that, even now, he could not, would not do. Sure he used people, didn't everyone? But he couldn't, not like that. Not after all that had been done to him.

Staring at nothing, his mind went in circles unable to reach a decision. Maybe he should just let it lay and see what Alvarez would do, leave it to the other man to make the choice? But Alvarez had only asked if he could hold him and it wasn't until he himself had altered things that it had become an embrace. No, he was sure that the Latino was looking for him to be in control. He was uncertain why but he had that suspicion.

So different to the persona he displayed to all and sundry, with him, Alvarez had let that pretence drop and shown him his whole, raw. He was flattered, proud even and yes damn it, a little turned on that someone as messed up as Alvarez was, could put his trust in him and it must have taken a great deal of trust to reveal himself to be so vulnerable.

He gave up, not having decided what to do, how to proceed or not and sat listening to the near silence in the rare solitude. It didn't last long as the door at the bottom of the stairs opened and closed softly. He didn't need to be wary, he knew instinctively who it was. In fact he was surprised it had taken Alvarez this long.

After almost immediately leaving the canteen behind him, Miguel must have been debating whether to approach him or not. He raised his eyes, still leaning on a hand and watched as the younger man hesitantly climbed the stairs, head down and noticed that he had begun to think of him as Miguel and not the usual surname.

Stopping a few steps down from Beecher, Alvarez nervously glanced up through lashes, his hands shoved in pockets with his shoulders hunched and wished he'd not followed. Beecher greeted him with no more than a questioning rising of brows. He swayed, looking like he would bolt. In a sudden movement he swung around and sat close to Beecher on the step beneath, again showing that trust that this man would not hurt him. But he sat hunched with arms folded on knees just waiting.

So it was up to Beecher. If he didn't move, how long would Miguel stay? He found that he didn't want to find out so gently he placed his right hand on the man's far shoulder. Alvarez immediately leant into him, placing a hand on Beecher's left knee but so lightly as if he dare not push his luck. Fuck it! Beecher leant backwards, ignoring the hard step digging into his back, and sliding his hand from shoulder down the man's bare arm, encircled him, pulling him closer.

Alvarez became a rag doll, all his weight on Beecher pushing him back further onto the step, his arm heavy on his leg. 'What was one more bruise?' thought Beecher as he leant back on a bent arm, taking some of the weight off the step. It seemed to be enough that they remain still and Beecher stared at the rose inked into the hand on his knee as Alvarez breathed deep and smoothly, his head lying back on his shoulder. His eyes had closed as if finding a peaceful calm place. Tobias hoped that was so, for he knew that need well.

Blessed minutes past before Beecher realised he had rested his cheek on the dark, shorthaired head and also that he was softly humming. He could not remember the last time he had done such a thing. He had been brought back to himself by that rose slowly moving along his leg, circling down and around his inner thigh. He tensed. Alvarez must have felt it as he pulled away slightly twisting to look up at him, the hand coming to rest on the top of his thigh, his other hand reaching across to rest on Beecher's far hip.

He studied the face just below his own. The eyes were yearning, questioning, the lips slightly parted, straining up, almost begging to be kissed. Beecher slowly shook his head, no. Alvarez dropped his gaze followed by his head to the broad chest and encircled the torso in tight arms.

It was enough for Miguel hearing the heartbeat. It had to be. But, 'Oh God, Please don't push me away,' he thought desperately. Had he gone too far? 'Por favor, don't turn me away now'. He waited in fear for a shove but instead found himself rocked back slightly as Beecher's arms encircled him, a hand covering his face, fingers spread to stroke at his hair. Miguel relaxed once more and fell.

Voices heard on the other side of the door signalled that the meeting of bodies and consciousness was at an end and they swiftly sprang apart, Beecher to rub at his back, Alvarez to stand hugging himself, wondering if he should say something. No, no words of his could possibly express what he was feeling, gratitude, elation and something more he couldn't name.

Beecher was stood looking at him, still rubbing at his back. The door opened, a voice harsh in its intrusion and Alvarez took his chance. He jumped up a step and quickly but firmly kissed Beecher on the lips and was off, running up the stairs before the man had time to react.

Bemused expression met bemused expression as Said, on climbing the steps, encountered a motionless Beecher. "What is it my Friend?" he inquired, smiling to be startled by hands thrown into the air and, "Life!" exuberant as Beecher practically skipped down past him and the others, heading off through the door.

Said smiled to himself. It was a long time since he had seen anything close to the almost happy expression he had just witnessed on the man's face. He was glad. The cause? He had no idea.

==000==

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning, Alvarez awoke to realise that he'd actually slept through the night, a rare occurrence. Also there were no lingering nightmare visions to disturb his daytime thoughts. He felt refreshed and more able to face the day ahead. He had gone to bed hugging himself close, the blanket wrapped tight, with a smile to his lips he was unaware of as he'd laid there, feeling those arms surround him. Holding him tight.

His only concern was that he'd wanted Beecher to kiss him! He had never thought of it before, not having occurred to him to want such a thing but as he'd been held, had felt the firm leg under his hand, he had been overwhelmed by a longing.

He'd been relieved when he saw the shake of the man's head. Thinking back now, he was sure he'd once more just wanted to show his thanks and could think of no other way to get across what he was feeling. He knew Beecher would not be offended by a man wanting to kiss him, that was a given, but then it was him, Miguel Alvarez, and that could well be a different matter.

So he'd felt relieved because Beecher could have taken it to be offering more and he was sure that he wasn't. But, being held so tightly and looking up into that face, he'd had to do it. Impulsive, still unsure what he intended, he'd quickly placed a kiss to his lips then ran not wanting to know the response, fearing he would see rejection but also that he would not. He was still fucked up, but he already knew that and at least now he had something else, something new to obsess over. And he did. All day.

Avoiding any chance of a meeting with the man, fearing an awkward encounter, he'd kept a noticeable distance between them but could not keep from looking at him and Beecher was obviously aware of his regard. The first time they'd made eye contact after leaving the stairwell, Miguel felt himself blush! He wouldn't have thought it possible but, dropping his eyes away, feeling himself go warm, he prayed no one else had noticed.

Beecher had and it had made him smile inside. All day long, whenever there was occasion for the two of them to be in the same area, every time Beecher glanced at Alvarez which, he had to admit was a lot, the same lowering of eyes and dropping of head, finding something fascinating off to the side somewhere. It was reminiscent of High School and Beecher felt charmed. Alvarez was behaving like a shy teenager and it took him back to a much pleasanter place.

Alvarez could not believe how he'd been acting. He'd just had to keep looking at the other man as if to reassure himself that he was still there, still real but where could he go? He sat on the edge of his bunk and cringed at the way he'd been the day before. He determined he would not continue the same today. His behaviour would be noted if it had not, by some miracle, been already.

Everyone in here spent the time watching each other. There wasn't much else to do but it was also a survival mechanism, watching for possible threats, business opportunities and targets. Any sign of weakness or distraction could be exploited. Would be! So with a new resolve, he stood, dressed and prepared to meet the new day.

'Morning Count' went well as he managed to look everywhere except down across the way to the right. Breakfast went okay too. Purposefully sitting at a table, with his back to Beecher and his small group, he concentrated on the food. He'd watched him in the queue though and was disappointed when the man never looked his way once.

So Alvarez spent the day worrying. With nothing to do, nowhere to be, the hours stretched and he occupied his time as he occupied a chair, sprawled in front of the TV bank starring through it. He managed to keep enough awareness about him to stave off the few annoyances to his self-imposed isolation, Ryan O'Riely being the hardest to get rid of but generally he was left alone. His face fixed, arms crossed tightly over his chest, he was setting up the exclusion zone, but in reality he jammed his hands away to prevent the impulse to worry at a nail.

Beecher had not looked at him once. He'd been such a fool. Pushed too far. He should have taken the shake of the head as final but no, he had to push. And so the kiss had obviously been too much. He'd blown it!

But what of yesterday? Beecher had looked at him repeatedly. Maybe he'd just being trying to decide if he was worth his interest and decided he was not. The arguments raged on in his head.

Maybe Beecher was just being careful? Everyone had known all the ins and outs of what happened between him and Keller. It had caused no small amount of amusement, their own soap opera live in your living room. So was it that this new, much more closed off version of that man, no longer wanted his emotions on show for public scrutiny? No, he'd pushed too far he was sure. His behaviour yesterday had sickened himself so what must Beecher have thought? Probably that he was pathetic and not worth the bother.

Then his head began to hurt realising he was now panicking because he wanted to be worth Beecher's interest, his attention. And because he now knew that he wanted more from the man than just the odd comforting touch.

He had felt so safe in those arms but now, as he thought of it happening again, replayed the images in his mind of the meeting on the stairs, it went further. Beecher would have taken up his offer. His gentle hands would have held his face as he leant into kiss him and he would have surrendered all, gone anywhere that Beecher wished to lead. Done anything he asked.

The thought brought him up short, sitting straighter in the chair, thumb unconsciously heading for his mouth. Biting at the nail it hit him that if Beecher had kissed him, he would have willingly done anything he wanted, anything to keep him interested. Become his bitch! Miguel Alvarez would have become a Prag!

Throwing down the earphones, he headed to his Pod. He had a great deal of thinking to do and walked straight into O'Riely. "Hey, Romano. Thought you didn't want to talk to me?"

"Don't," and tried to push past the grinning Irishman. He did not have time for one of Ryan's schemes and it could be nothing else.

"Not so hasty. It'll be worth your while talking to me."

Shit! Alvarez tried again but couldn't get past without a fight. "What?" and Ryan pulled him to one side and began to plot.

Finally managing to leave Ryan on the assurance he would think on it, Alvarez stood in his Pod. So just what was he going to do? He completely ignored his brief thought of the possibility that Beecher didn't want him. He had never really known that kind of rejection.

On the outside his good looks and easy confidence had enabled him to bed any of the women that had taken his eye and there had been many before he and Maritza had joined their lives together. Since being on the inside he'd had to fend off no small amount of advances. So, even if unconsciously, some of his vanity, which he had attempted to literally carve away, lingered and he was certain that with a few of the right moves he could easily get through the resistance and barriers that Beecher had set in place, that he was hiding behind.

But did he really want to? Yes. He knew he did but what of his thoughts of total submission? Now that was new and it frightened him. It was almost impossible to believe he'd willingly let someone see him defenceless already, that he had abandoned all his fight, his reputation to sink into those arms. But it had felt so good. Just to give up all the pretence and to rely on someone else, if even for a short while. He wanted that feeling again and as he stood in the meagre shadows of the Pod, arms wrapped tightly around himself, he knew with a certainty he seldom felt now that he wanted more.

But to be at someone's beck and call, to do anything they wanted, to let them do anything they wanted to him, he could not do. Near all his present and past troubles, both mental and physical had stemmed from that power struggle with El Cid. He'd had his authority over the Latino faction and himself stolen piece by precious piece through manipulation of his honour, his vows and through blood and pain.

Hernandez was gone now, killed by Rebadow supposedly in self-defence but the damage had been done. He'd never been able to reclaim his position of leader or even command of himself. Then, he had been unwilling, had fought, done everything he could to defend his station. He'd been unsuccessful but now he was considering being 'on the bottom bunk' without contention. He could see it no other way.

He felt so tired, so weak and Beecher, having survived all he had, was so strong. He would soon have control of him given or not. He didn't know if he could do it. Would any lingering pride he still believed he owned allow that? Thank God no one knew what had happened to him in solitary. Well, one other knew of course. He did not want to be a laughing stock, would not be able to face the others when they all knew he belonged to someone else. And that someone else who used to be a Prag himself! He would be a Prag's Prag and that he could not stomach anyone knowing.

Bending double, he fell to his knees over the toilet and heaved. It was his emotions in turmoil not his stomach but he continued to dry heave never the less and that's how O'Riely found him. "You should watch what you eat, Hermano!"

Alvarez sprang up and around facing him, rubbing a hand across his mouth. He had let his internal musings ignore his surroundings and that was dangerous. He looked at the grinning man leaning idly against the Plexiglas. Was that a threat? Or just fishing for a rise? "You cook it." He watched O'Riely for what he didn't say.

"Relax. Why should I poison _you_ when I want your help?" That easy grin not reaching the eyes.

"An if I don't?" O'Riely just shrugged in reply. 'Fuck' Miguel thought, it was a threat. He didn't want to get involved but then again, it would give him something else to think about. Also helping Ryan eliminate his latest perceived threat would maybe help restore some of his self-esteem, and O'Riely as ally was always preferable to O'Riely as enemy.

He was being regarded just as intently in return, as if Ryan was expecting his acquiescence but planning for the alternative. Yet again Alvarez really had no choice at all. "Si," and with that, a grinning O'Riely left. He collapsed onto the only chair in resignation but at least one course was set for him now.

=0=

The following morning, Alvarez awoke to realise that he'd actually slept through the night, a rare occurrence. Also there were no lingering nightmare visions to disturb his daytime thoughts. He felt refreshed and more able to face the day ahead. He had gone to bed hugging himself close, the blanket wrapped tight, with a smile to his lips he was unaware of as he'd laid there, feeling those arms surround him. Holding him tight.

His only concern was that he'd wanted Beecher to kiss him! He had never thought of it before, not having occurred to him to want such a thing but as he'd been held, had felt the firm leg under his hand, he had been overwhelmed by a longing.

He'd been relieved when he saw the shake of the man's head. Thinking back now, he was sure he'd once more just wanted to show his thanks and could think of no other way to get across what he was feeling. He knew Beecher would not be offended by a man wanting to kiss him, that was a given, but then it was him, Miguel Alvarez, and that could well be a different matter.

So he'd felt relieved because Beecher could have taken it to be offering more and he was sure that he wasn't. But, being held so tightly and looking up into that face, he'd had to do it. Impulsive, still unsure what he intended, he'd quickly placed a kiss to his lips then ran not wanting to know the response, fearing he would see rejection but also that he would not. He was still fucked up, but he already knew that and at least now he had something else, something new to obsess over. And he did. All day.

Avoiding any chance of a meeting with the man, fearing an awkward encounter, he'd kept a noticeable distance between them but could not keep from looking at him and Beecher was obviously aware of his regard. The first time they'd made eye contact after leaving the stairwell, Miguel felt himself blush! He wouldn't have thought it possible but, dropping his eyes away, feeling himself go warm, he prayed no one else had noticed.

Beecher had and it had made him smile inside. All day long, whenever there was occasion for the two of them to be in the same area, every time Beecher glanced at Alvarez which, he had to admit was a lot, the same lowering of eyes and dropping of head, finding something fascinating off to the side somewhere. It was reminiscent of High School and Beecher felt charmed. Alvarez was behaving like a shy teenager and it took him back to a much pleasanter place.

Alvarez could not believe how he'd been acting. He'd just had to keep looking at the other man as if to reassure himself that he was still there, still real but where could he go? He sat on the edge of his bunk and cringed at the way he'd been the day before. He determined he would not continue the same today. His behaviour would be noted if it had not, by some miracle, been already.

Everyone in here spent the time watching each other. There wasn't much else to do but it was also a survival mechanism, watching for possible threats, business opportunities and targets. Any sign of weakness or distraction could be exploited. Would be! So with a new resolve, he stood, dressed and prepared to meet the new day.

'Morning Count' went well as he managed to look everywhere except down across the way to the right. Breakfast went okay too. Purposefully sitting at a table, with his back to Beecher and his small group, he concentrated on the food. He'd watched him in the queue though and was disappointed when the man never looked his way once.

So Alvarez spent the day worrying. With nothing to do, nowhere to be, the hours stretched and he occupied his time as he occupied a chair, sprawled in front of the TV bank starring through it. He managed to keep enough awareness about him to stave off the few annoyances to his self-imposed isolation, Ryan O'Riely being the hardest to get rid of but generally he was left alone. His face fixed, arms crossed tightly over his chest, he was setting up the exclusion zone, but in reality he jammed his hands away to prevent the impulse to worry at a nail.

Beecher had not looked at him once. He'd been such a fool. Pushed too far. He should have taken the shake of the head as final but no, he had to push. And so the kiss had obviously been too much. He'd blown it!

But what of yesterday? Beecher had looked at him repeatedly. Maybe he'd just being trying to decide if he was worth his interest and decided he was not. The arguments raged on in his head.

Maybe Beecher was just being careful? Everyone had known all the ins and outs of what happened between him and Keller. It had caused no small amount of amusement, their own soap opera live in your living room. So was it that this new, much more closed off version of that man, no longer wanted his emotions on show for public scrutiny? No, he'd pushed too far he was sure. His behaviour yesterday had sickened himself so what must Beecher have thought? Probably that he was pathetic and not worth the bother.

Then his head began to hurt realising he was now panicking because he wanted to be worth Beecher's interest, his attention. And because he now knew that he wanted more from the man than just the odd comforting touch.

He had felt so safe in those arms but now, as he thought of it happening again, replayed the images in his mind of the meeting on the stairs, it went further. Beecher would have taken up his offer. His gentle hands would have held his face as he leant into kiss him and he would have surrendered all, gone anywhere that Beecher wished to lead. Done anything he asked.

The thought brought him up short, sitting straighter in the chair, thumb unconsciously heading for his mouth. Biting at the nail it hit him that if Beecher had kissed him, he would have willingly done anything he wanted, anything to keep him interested. Become his bitch! Miguel Alvarez would have become a Prag!

Throwing down the earphones, he headed to his Pod. He had a great deal of thinking to do and walked straight into O'Riely. "Hey, Romano. Thought you didn't want to talk to me?"

"Don't," and tried to push past the grinning Irishman. He did not have time for one of Ryan's schemes and it could be nothing else.

"Not so hasty. It'll be worth your while talking to me."

Shit! Alvarez tried again but couldn't get past without a fight. "What?" and Ryan pulled him to one side and began to plot.

Finally managing to leave Ryan on the assurance he would think on it, Alvarez stood in his Pod. So just what was he going to do? He completely ignored his brief thought of the possibility that Beecher didn't want him. He had never really known that kind of rejection.

On the outside his good looks and easy confidence had enabled him to bed any of the women that had taken his eye and there had been many before he and Maritza had joined their lives together. Since being on the inside he'd had to fend off no small amount of advances. So, even if unconsciously, some of his vanity, which he had attempted to literally carve away, lingered and he was certain that with a few of the right moves he could easily get through the resistance and barriers that Beecher had set in place, that he was hiding behind.

But did he really want to? Yes. He knew he did but what of his thoughts of total submission? Now that was new and it frightened him. It was almost impossible to believe he'd willingly let someone see him defenceless already, that he had abandoned all his fight, his reputation to sink into those arms. But it had felt so good. Just to give up all the pretence and to rely on someone else, if even for a short while. He wanted that feeling again and as he stood in the meagre shadows of the Pod, arms wrapped tightly around himself, he knew with a certainty he seldom felt now that he wanted more.

But to be at someone's beck and call, to do anything they wanted, to let them do anything they wanted to him, he could not do. Near all his present and past troubles, both mental and physical had stemmed from that power struggle with El Cid. He'd had his authority over the Latino faction and himself stolen piece by precious piece through manipulation of his honour, his vows and through blood and pain.

Hernandez was gone now, killed by Rebadow supposedly in self-defence but the damage had been done. He'd never been able to reclaim his position of leader or even command of himself. Then, he had been unwilling, had fought, done everything he could to defend his station. He'd been unsuccessful but now he was considering being 'on the bottom bunk' without contention. He could see it no other way.

He felt so tired, so weak and Beecher, having survived all he had, was so strong. He would soon have control of him given or not. He didn't know if he could do it. Would any lingering pride he still believed he owned allow that? Thank God no one knew what had happened to him in solitary. Well, one other knew of course. He did not want to be a laughing stock, would not be able to face the others when they all knew he belonged to someone else. And that someone else who used to be a Prag himself! He would be a Prag's Prag and that he could not stomach anyone knowing.

Bending double, he fell to his knees over the toilet and heaved. It was his emotions in turmoil not his stomach but he continued to dry heave never the less and that's how O'Riely found him. "You should watch what you eat, Hermano!"

Alvarez sprang up and around facing him, rubbing a hand across his mouth. He had let his internal musings ignore his surroundings and that was dangerous. He looked at the grinning man leaning idly against the Plexiglas. Was that a threat? Or just fishing for a rise? "You cook it." He watched O'Riely for what he didn't say.

"Relax. Why should I poison _you_ when I want your help?" That easy grin not reaching the eyes.

"An if I don't?" O'Riely just shrugged in reply. 'Fuck' Miguel thought, it was a threat. He didn't want to get involved but then again, it would give him something else to think about. Also helping Ryan eliminate his latest perceived threat would maybe help restore some of his self-esteem, and O'Riely as ally was always preferable to O'Riely as enemy.

He was being regarded just as intently in return, as if Ryan was expecting his acquiescence but planning for the alternative. Yet again Alvarez really had no choice at all. "Si," and with that, a grinning O'Riely left. He collapsed onto the only chair in resignation but at least one course was set for him now.

=0=

Lunch was a living nightmare. Miguel did not like the way that O'Riely smiled as he spooned corn onto his tray. Deciding not to eat it, he needn't have worried as the whole tray was knocked from his hands as a fight broke out between the Aryans and a few of the Homeboys.

Caught in the middle, he tried to break free of the melee as the Hacks rushed in with batons at the ready to split it up. A fist to his stomach, he doubled over seeing a blade heading towards him. He was pulled backwards and pushed out of its path to hit the wall. He stood there hands raised signalling to the Hacks that he was not involved, would give no resistance and was left to watch amazed at his escape as the participants were manhandled away. Tobias Beecher looked at him once before being marched out.

Oh Shit! Now he owed the man. No doubt about it, it had been Beecher who had pulled him out of harm's reach. As calmly as he could, hiding the shaking that threatened to overwhelm him, he left the canteen. He could not have eaten anything now even if it wasn't all over the floor. Somehow he needed to pay him back. He could not be so beholding to the man. He was already in Beecher's debt due to the succour he had received. Of course he was grateful that he was still breathing and not currently bleeding his last on the canteen floor or in the hospital ward but now the balance was completely off.

So while Alvarez was to spend the rest of the day and night battling with himself, Beecher spent the time in the 'Hole' wondering what the hell he was doing but equally grateful to realise that he was still human. _And_, for once, he had managed to prevent someone going to an early grave instead of digging it.

Although he sat hunched on the cold floor of the filthy room, inside he could feel himself warming up. He was ready to try once more to stop the drying up of his soul.

==000==

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

It had gone okay. One thing Alvarez knew of Ryan O'Riely was that the man knew how to plan. Acting as decoy, O'Riely's latest perceived threat had been eliminated. Now another obstacle had been removed without interference from the Hacks in his continuing bid to be the top, if not the only, drug supplier in Em City and thanks to his aid, Miguel was in line for a cut of the profits.

The money didn't mean that much to him but maybe he could use it to either do or get something to help pay off his debt to Beecher. The man had already spent three days in the 'Hole'….for him.

He was going over options on how he could show his thanks. He'd thought of approaching O'Riely with a plan to cause trouble for and to Shillinger or Robson who were still a thorn in Beecher's side. There seemed to be some sort of cease fire in their continued torture of each other but Alvarez knew it could not last. Before he did embroil the Irishman in any scheme though, he would have to work out how to proceed, what exactly he wanted to do. Kill the Bastards would be good but he needed to be careful. It would all be pointless if he ended back in solitary or worse.

=0=

In his session with Sister Pete, Alvarez was uncommunicative. The empty computer chair on his arrival had added a pang of guilt and for once, he did not want to be there.

Pete tried her best, began fishing to see if her plan would work but could get nothing from the reluctant man. When she broached the subject of the missing assistant, she saw the slight intake of breath and was not fooled by the seemingly uncaring attitude.

She let Miguel leave early and he practically fled from her office. Well that was different. Writing down her observations, she locked them in a drawer of her desk along with the other pages she kept from Beecher's workload. There was a fair bit over the years he had not needed to see. The rest she added to the pile for when he returned to work.

Leaning against the wall, taking advantage of the extra time before he was due back in Em City, Alvarez stood and starred ahead ignoring the Hack's glances through the gate. He didn't wonder why he was being left alone, didn't know the Nun had asked the guard to leave him for a while after he left her office, but then again, he didn't know whom she was expecting next.

He looked up as the gate slid open then found the opposite wall fascinating. He heard every footstep of the approaching man and felt each one as if it were centred in his belly. Beecher drew level waiting, looking at him. He slowly lifted his head and quickly glanced at the neutral face, cramming his hands behind his back to prevent himself from grabbing for him.

"You okay?" Beecher sounded concerned.

Alvarez just shrugged, staring off and slumped against the wall. Beecher turned away as if to say, well fuck you then. Quickly, he caught at the man's pant's leg then jammed his hand behind him once more. Beecher joined him in leaning against the wall, standing close. He could practically feel the warmth he craved coming through Beecher's top and moved ever so slightly closer so their arms touched, hoping the other would not realise it deliberate while wishing he was bare armed as he himself was.

"Nice wall!"

"¿Qué?"confused.

"The wall. Very nice."

He risked a sideways glance, what the hell was he talking about? Beecher pointed idly across the way. "Well, you're the one starring at it."

Alvarez ducked his head. He felt like he was blushing again. Shit! Beecher was obviously expecting him to say something. Thank you for saving my life? The truth, but it sounded so lame. "Gracias, man." Fuck, that was even worse. He closed his eyes.

Beecher nodded and smiled wistfully. He wasn't expecting gratitude, he just wanted confirmation that Alvarez knew that he was here for him. In whatever way he wanted. That's what he had decided while sat in that disgusting room. He would not push him away but would not encourage him either. It was all up to Alvarez to lead the way, whichever way he took, and he was willing to follow.

Alvarez bit at his lower lip, eyes still closed and pulled his left hand from behind his back letting it dangle between them and then almost praying, spread his palm on the leg beside him. No movement, no shrugging it off. He dared. He had to. He squeezed the leg firm under his hand and, turning his head fractionally, watched Beecher from the corner of his narrowly opened eye. Beecher had a slight smile to his lips, turning partially towards him and Miguel felt his hand covered, fingers entwining between his own and a responsive pressure.

He relaxed, hadn't known that he'd tensed up so much. His head rose as he turned in towards the other, looking into that clear bright gaze for a second then down to his lips. His right hand came up to lightly press on Beecher's chest. Leaning in, he relished the resistance as the man did not draw back. So close, he reached across that last barrier of distance and one within himself, placing a light, heartfelt but chased kiss to the surprisingly soft lips, felt the momentary hesitation then the gentle response sending a thrill through his entire body.

"Hey!" Banging on the bars and they stepped apart as the Hack unlocked and slid back the gate. Standing dejectedly, head down, Alvarez waited for the inevitable as he watched Beecher watch him as the Guard approached.

Drawn by the noise, Pete emerged from her office. "Ah, Tobias good. Come in. You have lots to catch up on." She stood waiting. Beecher watched the Hack slow down and draw level. "Just in time. Officer, please escort Miguel to Em City."

"But Sister..." the guard started.

"Come on, Tobias" reaching an arm out, "Thank you, Officer."

No argument would be brooked with that tone. Exchanging a glance that spoke of later, Beecher and Alvarez walked in opposite directions both thankful to the Nun for unwittingly preventing another trip to the 'Hole'.

"So, Tobias. I wanted to ask you something," and with that the door closed and Alvarez could hear no more. As he was taken back, he was also thankful that now he knew he would not be turned away. Now all he needed to decide was how far he wanted to go and if he truly was willing to.

==000==

"Count!"

As they all lined up, Alvarez tried to pretend he was showing as much interest in one person as much as any other. He noted that Beecher had a pensive look on his face this morning. Oh God. Please don't say he's having second thoughts. He thought on his plan to get the man alone sometime today.

A nudge to his arm and he turned to O'Riely next to him, "What's made you so happy?" He looked at him puzzled. "You're smiling."

His face closed up and he turned away. He had to be more careful. Another shove, his retort cut sort as McManus called for attention. "Moving day!" he announced to a loud collective groan.

It was a new idea the man had come up with a couple of months ago. Every few weeks he would move some of them around, the theory being to split up Podmates who were too involved, mixing people up in the hope that if they could find peace, come to an arrangement, a balance in their Pods, it may ease the tensions outside. As usual it was not working. "You all know the drill."

So they all stood there waiting to see which would have a Hack walk up the lines behind them to place a hand on the shoulder of the selected and then to be marched to collect belongings and to be escorted to their new homes while every one else stood and watched. Plenty of swearing as eight of them were tagged and proceeded to move. The hand on Alvarez' shoulder felt so heavy, so ominous that he could of sunk to the floor.

Dragging himself reluctantly to his now former Pod, he collected his meagre belongings then assembled with the others in the centre as everyone else was sent back to their Pods. Shit! Not only did it mean contending with a new cellmate, moving day also meant early 'Lockdown'. He would have very little opportunity to pull Beecher to one side, let alone get him alone. Fuck.

He would have to do it either going to or coming back from the canteen. Shit. Shit. Shit! He would have to think on his feet and fast. More than anything, he needed to talk to Beecher, try to explain without being laughed at that he wanted a 'relationship' with him but did not want anyone to know but also he was still unsure just what sort of relationship he wanted.

A hand grabbed his arm and he was dragged off to his new home. He didn't pay that much attention on where he was going, his mind working furiously until he was pushed reluctantly inside the new Pod and looked up to see just who he would have to contend with now. He was met with a smile.

"I've been expecting you. Sister Pete seems to think I may have a calming affect on you!"

As Alvarez stared open mouthed into Beecher's amused eyes, he felt anything but calm. Incredulous, he just stood unmoving. So many conflicting emotions coursed through him. Amazement, relief, anticipation, uncertainty and fear.

Beecher moved forwards and took the bundle from his unresisting hands and placed it on the bottom bunk. He just starred at it as Beecher leant an arm across the top one. "Problem?" He looked at him, saw the slight smile and shook his head minutely then his attention centred on those lips. Beecher moved his head from side to side slowly, watching as Miguel's eyes followed. He laughed and Alvarez' head snapped back, his face livid. It was as if he had just been slapped. Stood hunching up upen himself, he sent daggers at the man.

'Fuck' thought Beecher, he was going to have to be really careful. He had no illusions that Alvarez was not capable of unpredictable violence and judging by that look he was receiving, the smallest thing could be taken as a slight. It was apparent to him that Miguel's ego was fragile in the least and had an inkling that judging by his actions this last week, anything Beecher did would be taken in the extreme. He didn't want or need that responsibility, had argued with the Nun that this was not a good idea but Pete's mind had been made up so now here stood Alvarez.

He should have told her the rest, what Miguel seemed to want from him but, still unsure of his own response to the matter, he had refrained from the subject. Now he was faced with a figure that appeared to be smouldering with resentment, hatred and above all hurt. Damn.

He had been charmed once more by Alvarez' actions. It had delighted him and he'd laughed in joy, such an alien feeling, but it had been taken wrongly. How to explain? He held up a hand and slowly reached towards the clenched figure, judging that sudden movement would be a mistake. So far in their 'communication' there had been little language used and besides, he could think of nothing to say.

Alvarez saw the hand coming towards him and shot back a couple of steps, holding himself tightly. Beecher remained where he was, extended his arm, turning his hand palm upwards, then waited, trying to maintain a peaceful expression.

Miguel's eyes were flitting between the upturned hand and Beecher's face. He wanted nothing more than to grasp the offered hand and hold it to his cheek but Beecher had laughed at him! It was as if he was spitting on all his feelings towards him.

Had it all been a lie then? Just something to keep the man amused? Now he stood there so patiently, the extended hand between them. An apology? A summons? What? If he took it, would that not be allowing the balance between them to swing even further in the other man's favour? Part of him wanted to give himself over right now and let this other man take command of him, to control him. Protect him. But he was not a 'bitch'! Could not allow himself to be.

Yet still he moved forwards slightly, swaying on the balls of his feet then stood his ground. Not realising how petulant he sounded he stated as if in challenge, "You laughed at me."

Beecher dropped the aching arm and lowered his head. What the hell could he say? He looked up shaking his head. "No, Miguel. I didn't laugh at you." Alvarez' face showed he knew it to be a lie. "No. Not at you. You delight me," he admitted shrugging.

Miguel's stance didn't alter but puzzlement began to creep across his face covering the anger but to be followed by suspicion. Was he still being toyed with? And he was using those fancy posh words, showing he thought himself better than him, his superior. Typical upper class white Bastard! "Miguel, after what you have shown me, how could I laugh at you? Do you really think me that cruel? If so then why have you shown me such trust?"

Now Miguel was really confused. As he thought about it, yes, he supposed, it could have appeared that way. He'd not been thinking in those terms, he'd just wanted to feel that comfort he had first found in a simple touch. He relaxed somewhat and the sounds from outside began to intrude. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw everyone heading out and, turning back but not looking at Beecher, spoke softly, "I'm hungry," and with that left the Pod.

Beecher in turn felt relief, let out a breath and followed. Alvarez was walking slowly and as Beecher caught up, looked at him quickly. "Then lets eat," he told him and they walked together to the canteen.

==000==

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

He was uncomfortable. It wasn't for the fact of the cold wall at his back or that he had been stood in the same place, practically the same position since 'Lockdown' hours ago. Alvarez was uncomfortable because he was in uncertain alien territory.

This was Beecher's Pod and having submitted to the bottom bunk physically, without even a hint of complaint or protest, he'd already given away any standing he may have had. He felt drained because with this man, he'd thought he could find a safe refuge but now he was here, beyond any imaginings he'd had of them being alone together, and he was scared.

Standing here, he'd surreptitiously watched as Beecher 'pottered' about the Pod, making up his bunk for him and placing his few possessions around the room. He knew that with very little effort on Beecher's part, he would indeed have him at his command. It frightened him. He wanted it! Even now Beecher was showing him where his stuff should go, where his limits were but at least he hadn't made him do it, directing him about. That was something.

Beecher now lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. On entering the food hall, he'd stayed behind Alvarez, thinking once more let him lead the way, and hoping that by following, it would give Miguel a feeling of control and that he was not been led. Also that he was there to protect his back as he had done before. He had extended an invitation to join him and his 'group' at their usual table as Alvarez had been sitting alone recently.

Miguel had hesitated then moved to sit opposite him but with head down, hardly eating anything belying his earlier statement. He'd tried to appear as if he wasn't there. Beecher had answered the curious eyes of Rebadow and the rest with a calm, "Get used to it," and left it at that.

On being locked in the Pod, he had waited for Alvarez to do something, anything but all the man had done was to retreat into the corner by the door and into himself. A thumb every so often found its way between teeth then was jammed into a pocket only to be re-bitten a short while later.

So, seemingly having no inclination to do it himself, the bundle had been left untouched on the bunk all day, Beecher decided to settle his stuff in for him. Maybe if Alvarez saw that he was willing to do this domestic chore for him he would realise that he was not interested in who had any power here.

Whatever was going to happen between them, if anything indeed did, Beecher was not interested in that dominance play, the Headfuck games. He'd already had way too much of that, it was so destructive. Now, he just hankered for two people to be able to come together on mutual terms, looking for similar if not the same things and just, be together.

Glancing at the still figure in the corner, he knew it would not be that simple. Things seldom were even in life on the outside, so what chance here? Still the ultimate optimist. Still the ultimate fool. He growled out in frustration, covering his face with his hands, scrubbing at his cheeks, missing the panicked expression the noise made on Miguel's whole demeanour.

Fuck! What should he do? What could he do? Alvarez had a great deal of ground to recover, Hell, a whole continent. His actions up to this point or rather, inaction, had culminated in letting Beecher direct him in public around the canteen, a presence at his back then being told to sit with him to eat as if he had already marked him out as his. Miguel had nearly refused but capitulated. Then there had been worse to come when the others were told to get used to it.

He was already caught and, actually even worse for him, part of him wanted to be and that part was growing. That's how he'd found himself joining the older man almost automatically for lunch and dinner without a word.

Could he possibly convince Beecher somehow to keep their relationship secret? He didn't want to call it anything else and knew that, whichever way they went, there would be a relationship and it would be physical. There would be sex. He could tell from the way the man had been looking at him and he was certain it would happen if he agreed or not. He did not truly believe that he would be given the option. It was becoming inevitable, everything in the tense atmosphere told him so.

His belly flipped and he stifled the groan so as not to draw attention to himself. How could he convince the man to keep it out of view or, after everything the man had been through, did he now want a trophy himself to show off his dominance? It seemed that way even though he didn't believe he would make a very good one, not in his present state.

The only way out of this he could see was to do violence to the man. It made him want to cry. He did not want to hurt him. What he wanted was to feel those strong arms around him. Tight. Feeling so pathetic, so weak, he wanted to feel them now, to feel that reassurance and safety, in the arms of the man who was also at this time his greatest threat. Shit! Fuck! Shittingfuck! He sank down to his haunches, head in hands and shook.

He was aware of a shifting in the small room and sank down further, sitting on the floor, legs drawn up and arms covering his head. 'I'm not here,' he kept thinking, 'leave me alone, I'm not here, you can't see me. Don't see me'. A light touch to his leg and he let out a sob.

'Oh fuck,' thought Beecher as he felt Alvarez curl up even tighter and, was he crying? He glanced through the Plexi, could see no one watching but bodies circling around each other. He wasn't the only one having problems with a new Podmate then but doubted anyone else was having this sort. "Miguel?" nothing, "Miguel, what's wrong?" If the man chose to answer it could take all night, he was certain. This man was a mess.

Crouching down, he shook Miguel's leg. "Talk to me?" No response, so he sat cross legged on the floor, facing the huddled figure. Obviously this was going to take time but he couldn't leave him like this. "Miguel. Please," he hazarded, "¿Por favor?" and placed his hand back on the man's shin and felt the leg shift towards him ever so slightly. He squeezed then let his hand lie heavy.

Peering in, trying to see his face, Tobias saw the dark head lift fractionally then rubbed his hand up and down Miguel's leg, fingers curling around to hold onto his calf. "Tell me?" his voice low and gentle. Alvarez tentatively relaxed, the arms loosening their hold and looked back at him. That look went straight to Beecher's core. It was filled with confusion, longing and above all fear. But there was nothing for him to fear here surely? He reached forwards to take hold of a lax hand and drew it to himself, thumb rubbing across that black rose.

Miguel was shuddering as he allowed Beecher to take his hand. He was so cold, so lost with the only sensation the hand curled around his leg, the thumb stroking his hand. How he'd longed for this touch and now he wanted to lunge forward and grab hold of the man and never let go. There lay safety, there lay strength he could lean on. Looking up into that clear bright gaze, he saw concern and he saw clearly, want. He leant towards him, his hand returning the caress.

Beecher saw the slow but steady movement, saw once more the parted lips reaching for him, the look in the eyes as if a replay of the moment on the stairs days before. This time, though still against his better judgement, he went to meet him, placing a slow chaste kiss on that begging mouth to find a hand on the back of his head pulling him in for a much deeper one.

It was as if Miguel was famished, his lips crushing against his own, moving hungrily across his skin. Beecher could do nothing but respond, his hand moving up the leg then down along Miguel's thigh. He let go of the hand, raising his own to cup Miguel's face and, as the kiss continued, began to explore with his tongue into that thirsting mouth.

Pain up his back, along his shoulders as Beecher found himself sprawled against the opposite wall, jammed at the bottom of the bunks. A pressure on his chest spoke of where he had been violently kicked away. Angry, feeling at his ribs, he looked to Miguel then in astonishment saw that he had once more curled up into a ball this time, rocking in time to a stream of " n..oh fuck can't ..won't be... No.. No.." The noise of him hitting the Plexi had brought a Hack. They were always extra vigilant on 'Moving Day'. They had to be.

Beecher was surprised that they hadn't been noticed before so the Hacks must have been busy elsewhere. He put his hands up signalling no problem. The Hack looked at him, at the hunched ball in the corner. A finger pointing at him, "Sort it out. Peacefully! Lights out in twenty," and with that moved off.

There was a much softer tapping coming from behind him. Turning awkwardly from his current position, he saw the concerned face of Bob with Brusmalis hovering behind. "Toby. Are you alright?" mouthed through the thick plastic.

Turning to kneel, rubbing at his back once more, he replied equally quietly, "I'm fine"

Rebadow didn't look as if he believed him. Glancing over at the still rocking man, he asked, "Do you want us to keep an eye on you tonight?"

Fuck no, he thought but saw the genuine concern on the old man's face, "No," he smiled, "We'll be fine."

Rebadow shook his head, "I'm not bothered about him!" pointing, "It's you, Toby. Are you sure you'll be alright?"

He was far from sure, "Yes, I'll be fine," he tried to sound reassuring.

Rebadow nodded and moved away pulling Brusmalis after him. That was a pair that never got switched on 'Moving day' although the position of their Pod sometimes changed instead. Now, not only would he have to contend with extra scrutiny from the Hacks but knew Bob would be watching too, though no doubt Brusmalis would be asleep five minutes into 'Lights Out'. Some times he envied him.

He turned his attention back to Alvarez. Kneeling, this time a little further away, he studied the figure, listening to the mumbling streaming from him. What the hell had happened? Whatever was to happen from now on, he laughed to himself careful not to make a noise, it was sure to involve more bruises. He had enough already, his shoulders, his back and now, by the feel of it, his stomach.

He concentrated on the litany, muffled by the enclosing arms, "no, can't be... won't be.. Don't.. Don't leave me.. want to ..Si ..but can't.. Perdone. Perdone...want you to.." over and over. He was having trouble following even a little of it not to mention the breaking into Spanish. No, can't, wont, want you to? All contradictory but then, so were his actions.

"Miguel?" no response. Shit. "Miguel!" louder, harsher, broaching no opposition. That got some reaction as Miguel went still, stopped mumbling, no sound at all. "Look at me!" slow precise and commanding. It worked. Alvarez lifted his head, arms brought down but only so the hands covered his face starring through splayed fingers like a startled deer.

Fuck! Beecher was giving him orders now and he was complying. He closed his eyes, he didn't want to see Beecher angry with him. Hell, he didn't know what he wanted!

Beecher tried again, knelt forwards on all fours then reached to take one of Miguel's wrists. Speaking calmly, trying to cajole, "Miguel, tell me what's wrong," a pause, "What did I do wrong?" Take the blame onto himself, it might just work. Pulling gently on the wrist, "Talk to me. Tell me how to help you."

Miguel's hands were rigid grasping his own face. Beecher pulled harder on the wrist and it suddenly came away. He sprang back letting go, cautious of Alvarez' violence but the hand just hovered there for a moment then Miguel relaxed, his arms balancing on his knees and his fingers began picking at each other as he stared at them.

Beecher sat back on his heels. "Talk to me!" He wanted a response before 'Lights Out' and that couldn't be long now. He stretched a hand forwards once more and entered his fingers into the dance, it stopped then Miguel began to toy with them. "Talk to me!" How many times had he said that? "Tell me what's wrong!"

"Can't. Won't!" so quiet, still watching his hands.

"You can't what? Miguel. You won't what?" He was losing his patience. He might spend a lot of time around Sister Pete but he was not cut out for this, did not know how he should handle it, especially as the man had started that damn mumbling again. "can't.. won't.. can't do it...want you to but I can't be. Perdone...Si. want..."

"You can't what? You won't what? You want me to what? For fuck sake, Miguel. Talk to me. In sentences. I don't understand you!"

Miguel started to speak louder but in exactly the same way, now shaking his head steadily from side to side, eyes never leaving their fingers. The picking was becoming painful. Beecher tried to pull away but Miguel would not let go. He didn't know what to do but he had to snap the man out of this. "Aow!" That was it! Beecher jerked his hand away, looked at the torn nail and Alvarez didn't seem to notice. Patience gone, Beecher slapped him across the face then braced himself for a fight.

Alvarez just starred at him in shock. He couldn't believe what had just happened. Earlier he had felt the laugh like a slap and now Beecher had actually done it. He'd slapped him. Not hit him. Slapped him. Did he already think of him as his 'Bitch'? Something that had to be slapped down when it displeased?

He breathed deeply, summoning up the will to attack but looking up at that face, feeling a hand back on his leg as if to say I'm sorry, Alvarez knew he wouldn't attack. He couldn't hurt him. Instead, he just covered his face and turned to the wall so Beecher would not see his tears. He was lost.

Beecher was relieved that no attack came but felt guilty at striking out in his annoyance but all that had happened was that Miguel was still curled against the wall with the string of words replaced by, this time he was sure, tears. He was getting nowhere then the call came and the lights went out. Alvarez seemed to let out a yelp of helplessness. What the hell was going on in that man's head? He couldn't even guess but the harsher tone had worked before. Was that the way to go?

Over the last few days he'd had a growing suspicion that Alvarez was looking to him to take charge of whatever this was between them. It didn't sit that well with him but at this point he was willing to try almost anything. "Miguel! Get up. Get up now!" Stillness, a sniff but he was definitely being listened to. "NOW!" he repeated. Miguel looked at him, he could just make out his tear filled eyes as they caught the subdued lighting but he made no move to rise.

Standing, bending down, he grabbed Miguel by his upper arms and tried to pull him to standing. A dead weight, so swearing under his breath, he braced himself, pulled again and this time Alvarez came up unsteadily to his feet, hunched like a frightened child waiting to be hit. Beecher let go only to have to catch him again as he attempted to collapse back to the floor. He held him at arms length propped against the wall.

"Please, Miguel. Will you just tell me what is up with you." He felt like a broken record, "What have I done to upset you so much?" He'd only been responding to Alvarez' advances then suddenly found himself kicked off. He had to find out what was going on or there would be no peace in here tonight and he already felt drained. He couldn't take much more of this.

"I can't, won't," spoken so quietly.

Beecher scrubbed a hand across his eyes, through his hair, the other still having to prop Alvarez to the wall. Summoning up all his remaining patience he asked once more, "You can't what? What will you not do?"

"I want..."

"What?"

"Can't"

"What?" through clenched teeth.

Alvarez pushed away the restraining arm and hit out, pushing Beecher away with the flats of his hands, "I can't be a Prag. I won't be a Bitch for you!" Then stood for a moment staring out hate and vengeance before collapsing back, turning to press his face hard against the wall, hands splayed out either side with joints white as he pushed, shuddering, gulping in air as if he feared he drowned.

Beecher stood where he was, one hand holding himself up by the bunk where he had grabbed to prevent himself being on his butt on the floor once more. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Where the hell had that come from? Where the hell had Alvarez gotten that idea? What could he have done to make him believe that is what he wanted?

Beecher had gone through way too much humiliation and degradation, not to mention pain, to ever be able to treat someone the same. If he did, then this place and all the bastards in it would truly have won and no matter all he had been forced to do, there was still a part of him that truly believed he was better than the majority of the scum that he had to contend with.

He knew he was far from good, had not been totally innocent on arriving here. An image of a dead girl flashed through his mind searing in its clarity. But he'd more or less come to terms with his own guilt but this was beyond him. He was not a user. He'd become a player yes, but never a user, not in that way. There was a distinct line in his mind but what could he say to convince Miguel that he'd not crossed it and wouldn't?

He had to convince Miguel that he was wrong if he believed that was what he wanted. And, if Miguel wouldn't let himself become a 'Prag', why was he stood there so defencelessly with his back to Beecher? The other words surfaced in his mind, 'want you to'. What did he want him to do? Leave him alone? He hadn't gotten that impression, as he'd heard a, 'don't leave me alone', in there somewhere. It was as if Alvarez was arguing with himself.

Did Alvarez actually want to have sex with him? He'd acted as if he did for fucksake. Maybe he only believed they could if one was the dominant, the master and Alvarez saw Beecher as the one to take on that role. The state he was in he couldn't control himself so he hazarded that in Miguel's mind, he would see himself as the obvious one to be controlled. And did he some how want it?

The only time that Beecher had managed to illicit a response was when he'd stopped being gentle, when he'd ordered Miguel to do something. Damn, this was such a mess. He stood back, leaning against the bunks and folded his arms. Time to test out this new found theory. "Miguel, please look at me," soft and nothing.

"Look at me!" he barked and Alvarez spun around to jam his back against the wall but only looking at him from out of the corner of his eye and on his face was that awful, screwed up, anxious expression. Oh shit! Beecher knew then it was going to take a lot of work to get Alvarez' self esteem back to the fore. There was obviously some of his old self buried in there somewhere or what of the internal struggle that was apparently going on?

"I want you to listen to me very carefully." Miguel's head was dropping. "Look at me. I want your full attention!" Miguel watched him, arms tightly wrapped defensively across his stomach. He looked terrified. Beecher did not feel elated, did not feel vindicated that he could so easily have this man under his control as he'd once been under another's. He felt eminently saddened. "Miguel, I don't want you..." a wince, fuck how should he phrase this? Tell the truth he supposed. He began again,

"Miguel. I do not want you like that. I do not want a 'Prag', a 'Bitch'. If I did, you'd already be on your belly, face to the floor. I do not want anything from you that you're not willing to give _or_ take from me."

Was he getting through at all? It didn't look like it. "That first day in Sister Pete's office, you just looked like you needed something...a kind touch," he shrugged, "I know how that feels. I thought no more of it till you came early to your next appointment. I knew you'd come early to see me." Alvarez was frantically shaking his head. "Don't lie, Miguel, I'm telling _you_ the truth. I felt.." what word? "..honoured that you put your trust in me. That you let me witness something that no one else here has been allowed to see. And I have been charmed by your actions since. And yes. Turned on."

The look in Alvarez' eyes was changing, the fear subsiding and being replaced with what appeared to be, hope? "On the stairs, I wanted to kiss you but was afraid. I didn't know if you really wanted me to, if you really knew what you were doing," the last went up in note as if asking a question.

No. Alvarez had not truly known what he was doing. All he remembered was what he'd wanted at that moment and now, could he really believe what he was being told? Or was it just a ploy to get his defences down? What he had left of them. He studied Beecher's face as he spoke, couldn't make it out too well in the dimness but as he concentrated, he thought he was becoming clearer, not only as his eyes adjusted to the gloom but also as he desperately wanted what he was being told to be the truth.

"And I don't understand how any of my actions, anything I have done, could make you believe that I would want to own you. Yes, I want to protect you. Hell, spent days in the 'Hole' for you but not" and he emphasised this with a forward slashing hand that made Alvarez jump, "not, so you'd be beholding to me. Not as protecting my property. I just didn't want to see you hurt. You've made me feel something inside I thought dead. I find that I care about you and yes" he moved closer, slowly, "Miguel, the truth is I do want you. I want to touch you but only if you let me. I would never take from you. It's up to you. It always has been."

He could think of nothing more to say. He'd been open and honest, speaking as he had not for so long. Letting someone know what he was feeling he was leaving himself open once more to possibly be dashed down and, after all this, he feared that Miguel would now turn from him. Feared that the young man would not allow himself to find the comfort, the companionship he was offering and hoped to receive in return.

Alvarez was biting at a thumbnail again, staring at the man before him. Hesitantly he took a step towards him. Could it be true? Would he really not ask for anything more than he thought he wanted? But what did he want? He knew what he didn't, that he couldn't bear for anyone to know just how much he wanted to be in the arms of this man. That he needed, right now, to feel his strength, his warmth and if to be believed, his feeling for him. He took another step, the hand leaving his mouth as he nervously stretched it out towards Beecher and left it hovering as if saying take it, take me, save me. Beecher moved to gently take hold of the proffered, slightly trembling hand.

Torchlight and a banging on the Plexi, "Move away now!"

Alvarez shot back to the wall, arms tight around his waist and head down. Beecher starred at the Hack. How far had that put them back? The baton came up and resigned Beecher retreated from the light, from Alvarez, he too leaning against the wall at the head of the bunk and waited.

At last the light moved off and he relaxed somewhat. Closing his eyes then peering into the dark, he let his eyes adjust and hearing a light tapping looked through the bunks to see Bob looking back questioningly. He smiled at his friends concern and put a hand up to signal, 'I 'm fine'. Then he turned his attention back to Alvarez. At least the man had not sunk to the floor again.

"Miguel?" he called softly.

"I can't!" so quietly and forlorn he almost missed it. Hell, Beecher was so tired now.

"Go to bed, Get some sleep," He stripped down to boxers and T-shirt and, climbing into his bunk, wondered if Alvarez would stay there all night. He could do no more, it was up to Alvarez now.

He lay still, trying to relax but knew he would be sleeping light tonight. Sighing, he turned over. It took a while but finally he felt the bunks move as Alvarez climbed onto the one beneath. He hoped the man could find some rest, also that he knew he was safe in here but it was probably a vain one.

==000==

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**... Thankyou to **zephyr hb**, who, unlike me, can speak spanish. So, if there are any more mistakes, thats solely down to me.

* * *

Beecher came around slowly even though he'd only being dozing and realised that the bunk was shaking. They were not solidly built and you could feel near all movements of the other person. He could hear rapid breathing and yes, there, the sound of another piece of nail biting the dust.

Leaning over, peering down at Miguel, he got a feeling of 'déjà vu' of another time he had awoken to something similar. He had a pang of guilt thinking of Andy Shillinger and vowed that this would not end the same. No one was going to die here.

He lightly dropped from his bunk and crouching, looked in at Alvarez. The repeat of his actions gnawed at him but he had to do something. Alvarez was curled up on top of his bunk fully clothed. He hadn't even removed his shoes. He was shaking as if from the cold with every so often a more violent shudder. The eyes were closed but Beecher doubted he slept.

He put a hand on his shoulder and the shaking stopped instantly. Every muscle in Alvarez' body seemed to clench as his eyes shot open, moving straight to his. They accused. But Beecher hadn't lied. He put his hands up in denial and sat cross-legged on the floor, his face nearly level with that of Alvarez'. Chin propped on hand, he looked at Miguel.

How could he make him understand that he harboured no ill will? Quite the opposite in fact. Talking didn't seem a viable option. Words were so easy to believe, to disbelieve and to break. A yawn he could not cover and he propped his head further into his hand closing his eyes. Surely showing that he trusted Miguel as much as the man had once shown him would work?

Alvarez stared unmoving. What the hell was the man doing? Hearing him drop he'd thought 'he has come to claim me, all he said lies'. The hand on his shoulder had caused two conflicting feelings at once, fear and relief. Beecher was going to take him and then he would know for certain that he hadn't found the safe refuge he so longed for but more abuse. He could hardly expect ought else. He knew how life in this place worked, had seen it, experienced it. He knew how things went down. And he'd been hoping that maybe he could find, feel love.

Fool. Real love didn't exist here. Many spoke of it. O'Riely was convinced he loved Dr Nathan; maybe he truly did but look where it had led. To her husband's grave and Cyril being confined in this place, not understanding why. And what of this man sat before him and Keller? More death. Alvarez hadn't been around to see the so called good times of that relationship and had missed the ending while he was out of here but had soon learnt the story. He had seen Beecher when Keller was sent away. Everything that had happened had been played out in front of an audience eager for the next act. He was such a fool to think even of the possibility.

But he wanted that touch. He craved it. Maybe he could fool himself that whatever he received was just what he wanted and be content with that? He stretched out a shaky hand, stopped, bit his lip then touched the hand holding Beecher's head up.

Tobias slowly opened his eyes, moved to catch the hand in his and Alvarez let him. He placed his cheek in Alvarez' palm, covered by his own, then went back to leaning on his arm, a smile on his lips and closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep.

Alvarez was nonplussed. He'd not known what to expect but certainly it wasn't this. It was nice, the feel of the man's face in his hand, the seeming contentment there. They remained like that for hours but after what were surely only a few minutes, his arm began to ache so reluctantly he pulled back.

Beecher would not release his hand but shuffled forwards on the floor closer to him. Groggily he kissed Alvarez' palm then, still holding his hand, lay his head on the bunk by Miguel's chest and, exhaling, did indeed sleep. After a while Miguel moved, stretching out and resting his forehead against the top of Beecher's and he also finally slept, warmth seeming to creep up his arm from the hand loosely in his grip, filling through him.

Beecher awoke with a start. Without moving he tried to determine just what had awoken him. Still dark, no noise, then he realised how stiff he was, how cramped up and guessed that must be the cause.

Sitting up, he stretched, shaking off sleep and wondered what he was doing sat on a cold floor then saw the sleeping Miguel and smiled ruefully. The younger man actually looked calm, deeply asleep. Standing gingerly, working the chinks out of his stiff muscles, he moved to the front of the Pod, looking out.

All was quiet. The Hacks at their station, nothing but the odd turn in sleep visible from what he could see of the other Pods. Turning around he caught the glint of eyes looking up at him, watching his every move. So what move should he make? He didn't want to scare him again. Scare him? Alvarez had shed as much blood as he had, mutilated as he had but now he looked so unsure and yes, scared. Moving slowly, careful of sudden movements, he stood gazing down at the man, hands dangling loosely at his sides.

So nervously, it did something to the pit of Beecher belly, Alvarez sat up, still staring at him with wide open eyes and took hold of one of his hands. He brought it to his mouth, placed a quick dry kiss to the knuckles then, with both hands, placed it to lie against his cheek then let go. Beecher cupped his jaw, rubbed a thumb along that slightly crooked nose, along a cheekbone and back. He noticed the lips part, the yearning appearing in the eyes. His hand moved almost of its own volition around Miguel's head, thumb trailing alone the cheekbone then pulled him forward to lay the cheek against his belly.

Alvarez hesitated then his hands were up, holding onto Beecher's waist as he pressed his face in. No time at all and his arms had surrounded Beecher, holding on tight. Beecher stroked his head then cradled it as his other hand moved around, across his back to massage at a shoulder. He felt that collapse again as Alvarez once more seemed to let it all go, leaning into him, his breath warm on his belly. He so wanted to push forwards but refrained not wanting to scare the man off with his obviously growing arousal. He was uncertain Miguel would cope, especially if all he wanted was an embrace.

Miguel's face rubbed into him and the hands loosened their hold and began to explore. Knowing well where this could be leading, Beecher felt himself glad, relieved but he commanded himself to let the other lead the way, set his own pace but prayed that he would not stop or freak out as his movements were causing his whole body to pay avid attention.

Miguel was unsure of his actions, of his intentions. All he knew was that his hands would not stop moving. He wanted to feel Beecher's warm skin against him and his fingers found their way under the T-shirt and spread out across the man's back. Pulling away, the hand on his head allowing the movement, he pushed up the fabric so he could touch his lips to skin.

His kisses were tentative, savouring the feel of soft skin once more against his lips. It had been so long. He shuddered opened his mouth and gently sucked, constantly moving, careful not to leave marks or suck too hard, not wanting to anger the man. But he had to taste, dared to lick and was buoyed as he felt a responsive shudder and the man's hand pressing harder on his shoulder.

Maybe he was doing something right? His tongue played with the fine hairs above the navel. He was careful not to go much below, he didn't think he could go there, not yet. He hoped he would be able to soon, to bring this man pleasure. He also silently begged that he wouldn't be forced to before he was ready, if he ever would be. He didn't know, but he did know that now, he did not want to stop. He moved to be perched on the very edge of the bunk, his legs spread either side of the other's, his face moving upwards exploring, his hands frantically digging into Beecher's back.

He could not take much more of this. He was finding it hard to just stand and let Miguel direct things. He so wanted to push his head downwards but knew he must not. He sucked in a sharp breath as teeth caught at his skin. Alvarez shot back staring up, that frightened look back on his face, his hands rigid on Beecher's waist as if he dared not move, convinced that he'd done something wrong.

Shit! He hadn't meant to bite him! Looking up, he tried to gauge if he'd made Beecher angry but he just stared back, breathing deeply. Miguel could see his chest and shoulders rising and falling then suddenly Beecher took his hands off him. No! He wailed inside as Beecher stepped back but he crossed his arms pulling off his top. Throwing it to the ground, he held out his hands and, biting at his lower lip, Miguel placed his own in them. He was pulled upwards then followed as Beecher moved backwards into the darker shadows by the bunk head.

He pulled Alvarez close. If he backed against the wall, leaving the other man the option of 'escape', maybe he would gain a little confidence. He wanted to crush Miguel against it and yes, ravish him, he thought of the old fashioned word, but remember don't push it, don't push him. He didn't want anything to stop them now and he desperately wanted Alvarez not to stop.

Miguel was so nervous, so unsure. He knew Beecher was holding himself back, remembered being assured he would do nothing Miguel didn't want but as he hesitantly moved closer, he knew what he did want. He wanted this other man to take control of him, to take him, use him and, although part of him still rebelled at the notion, he knew that it was exactly what he desired. But how to show it? How to go back on all that he'd said, all that he'd denied?

Pulling his hands from the loose grip, he placed them on the bare chest before him, leant in and, staring at that mouth, caught it in a chaste kiss then feeling the response, the lips part, leant in harder. Beecher's arms surrounded him, pulling him closer and he lost all to the sensation of a mouth on his, a hot moist tongue tentatively dipping inside, between his lips. He licked at it aware that the last time he had felt Beecher's tongue enter his mouth he'd lashed out. Not this time. Shifting his hands, he captured the man's head and forced his own tongue into Beecher's mouth to be met and feuded with.

He had to stop as the sensations were making him heady, unable to breath and, dragging his mouth away, he plunged his face into the soft neck he remembered and held onto him as tightly as he could. His breath ragged, he then pulled away to look at Beecher's face. In the gloom he could still make out the look of passion, of lust evident in the flushed skin, the licking of lips and the eyes watching him closely.

Why wouldn't he just take him? He could feel Beecher's cock pressing against his hip even through his jeans, knew his own was stirring much the same if taking longer. Why didn't he use him now? Miguel knew how things in this place worked.

'Oh fuck, what now?' thought Beecher. He didn't think he could stop, could deny himself if Alvarez pulled away now but he was stood looking at him so intensely. He bent forwards, wanting to catch that mouth again and Alvarez pulled back, their bodies losing contact. Shit. He felt anger to be turned on so much and then for Alvarez to just stop and stare at him. His hands dug into Alvarez' flesh through his clothes. How he wanted to rip them off but instead he leant his head back on the wall, looking unbelievably at the ceiling and, relaxing his hold, swallowed hard. There was a kiss to his throat, along his shoulder then nothing. He brought his head back to look at the man tormenting him.

His head cast down, eyes flitting up and back, biting at his lip, Miguel released his hold on Beecher, placed his palms lightly on the moving chest. The attitude brought a jump to Beecher's belly and he had to fight to restrain the impulse rushing through him. It was a battle. The eyes flitted up then stayed downcast, "Beecher?" very hesitant nervous.

"What?" through tightened throat.

"Will you...?" he couldn't bring himself to say it, to ask.

Beecher ran a hand up a bare arm, up under the shirt, his other to Miguel's chin and lifted up his head, "What?" much softer this time. Alvarez still wouldn't look at him. He held the side of his face, thumb playing with those lips. If only he could turn Miguel on as much as he had affected him. He concentrated on his thumb as it dipped in and played with the inside of the other man's lips.

Alvarez closed his eyes and seemed to melt. His hands clutched at Beecher's chest, careful of his nails, feeling the nipples hard as the thumb was pushed into his mouth further, pressing down on his tongue. Fuck, he wanted this man. Wanted to feel him all over him. In him. Biting down gently, he closed his mouth around the intrusion and began to suck, his hands moving down Beecher's body to his sides, pushing down onto the hips, forcing the boxers out of his way.

Beecher pulled his thumb out or tried to. Miguel's mouth clamped harder, would not give up its prize. He watched mesmerised at the look on Miguel's face as he moved his thumb around and the man's head followed. It was so seductive. He retrieved his other hand, pulled Miguel's head towards him and, grasping his short dark hair, forced it back and to the side. Miguel's eyes and mouth opened in surprise and finally he could retrieve his thumb. He cradled the head once more and seeing that pleading look, clamped his mouth over Miguel's and all thoughts of holding back were gone as he fucked that mouth with his tongue, crushing lips together and would not be stopped.

Miguel responded instantly. This is what he wanted. He wanted to be taken. He wanted Beecher to consume him. To fuck him and now! He gave up everything except the realisation that he indeed wanted to be dominated here, now, out of view, where no one would know he submitted totally to another man's will.

The kiss ended, as all things must when intensity steels from longevity. His head was released as Beecher's hands moved to hold him by the waist. Alvarez dropped his forehead onto the man's shoulder. He didn't want him to stop. Not now. Not ever.

Beecher pushed him away slightly, looking at his face. He had to be certain Miguel knew what he was doing, that he wouldn't pull back again as he knew he himself wouldn't be able to stop soon. Hell, he doubted he could control himself now!

Miguel looked stricken, shaking his head, eyes pleading with him. "Please...don't stop." Beecher grinned at him not realising it had a hint of evil with the lust evident on his face. Miguel's breath shook, he bit his lip one final time then begged, he actually begged, "Fuck me?" He wanted to add hard but didn't dare, afraid he wouldn't, afraid that he would.

Beecher's heart jumped followed by his prick as Miguel did dare to push his hand into his boxers, onto him, onto his prick urging him on. He crushed the thinner frame to himself, breathing coarsely into his ear, "Harder", grabbing at his hair once more. Miguel pressed in, moving his hand up and down. He didn't really know what he was doing, tried to think what he liked but this situation was alien to him. He had a new fear that he wouldn't be any good, that he would disappoint but he could hear the deep breaths, feel the shuddering against him.

'Damn', thought Beecher, he was going to come already. He was so turned on and even with Miguel's inept handling it took only a few more passes and he came growling into Miguel's stretched neck as he held tight to his hair.

Alvarez had a moment of disappointment; it was so soon, followed by satisfaction as his inexperienced hand had brought the larger man off. Beecher was holding him tight, trapping him as he jerked a final time and let his weight fall on him. He had a sense of how Beecher must have felt holding someone up, defenceless in his arms.

Not exactly like this though, as he had not dared to grasp Beecher's butt so hard or at all. Was that it? Was it over? His own prick demanded attention, craved handling but the man seemed to be satisfied, just stood holding him. Dare he ask? Beecher was in control he knew that, wanted him to be and if he was to be left with his cock pressing tightly against his jeans then so be it.

The thought brought an anguished groan and he pushed forwards with his hips, pulling his hand out from between them. Maybe if he could get Beecher to notice how hard he'd made him he would consider doing something about it. He still wanted the man to fuck him, no doubt now, but he'd already asked and didn't want to push it by asking again. A spark of pride as well as uncertainty but he wanted it.

Maybe he should beg? Again? In his mind he knew he already belonged to this man no matter what had been said. He was his. The hand still grasping, holding his head where the other man wanted it to be, the hand grasping his butt so hard told him he was a possession. He made a small begging noise as he waited.

Beecher came back to himself. He'd been savouring the moment of release he hadn't experienced for such a long time. Never truly with his last 'partners', all dead now. Not since Chris. He felt a twist to his heart at he thought of him. But Chris had never made a sound like that. It broke through his reverie. It had almost been a whimper.

Coming back to the present and he shifted to look at Miguel. Damn, he must be hurting him as he was clutching so hard. He relaxed his hold on the dark hair, began a massage as the head buried itself in his neck, kissing him gently, almost cajoling as Miguel pushed into him hands, back at his hips. Small moaning noises escaped him as he rubbed his cheek against Beecher's bearded one then more kisses. He got the impression of a cat doing all it could to tell you it wanted stroking.

He also relaxed his hold on that tight butt. He must have been hurting him and had a brief smile that he wasn't the only one to get bruises. Miguel hadn't complained, had in fact done nothing to ease the pressure. He must still think of himself as being totally submissive in this pairing and would put up with just about anything he did to him.

Beecher got a brief sense of triumph but quickly subdued it. No, he would not go down that path. Maybe Alvarez just liked it rough or thought he did? He was going to have to work on the man's self-esteem, his confidence in this and life outside the Pod if he was to survive either.

Leaning back against the wall, loosely encircling the lighter man, he spoke softly into his ear, "Miguel, tell me what you want."

A sob then he ducked his head once more, tucking himself under Beecher's chin. Didn't he know? Couldn't he tell? Miguel had been doing everything he knew how to show he was here, waiting, available for Beecher to use as he would. And why did he ask? Was he one of those he had witnessed who needed to hear their bitch beg, got off on it? Begging for what was to be dished out? He already had but perhaps not enough. Did he want more? Was he acting out? Surely not.

Beecher had gotten his revenge on the one that had used him so badly even if it was not over yet. It would not be until one of them was dead. He'd already been laying plans to ensure it was not this man holding him now. He didn't want to believe it of this man, where he'd thought that he'd found a refuge but was his life now to continue the same? All he'd striven for, every time he thought things were getting better, his world would be dashed down.

And now? He felt his cock softening, his thoughts leading him to know he didn't deserve to get what he wanted. He never had. He wanted to cry, wanted to curl up somewhere alone where no one could touch him, where no other person existed. He didn't deserve the arms cradling him so gently, so warm, hiding their strength. But he didn't dare move as he dreaded the thought of Beecher letting go. If he did, Alvarez knew he would fall and never be able to get up again.

Beecher just held him waiting. After all Alvarez must just want comfort. He had probably realised he'd already gone too far. The cock that had been pressing into his pelvis was losing strength and Miguel had gone back to just leaning on him. He rocked him slightly as they stood there and he spoke softly, soothingly to him. "It's alright. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. And... Thank you."

That confused him again. It didn't fit. Beecher could do anything he wanted to him, Miguel had no choice as Beecher had claimed him. Thank you for what? What could he, Miguel Alvarez have possibly done that deserved thanks? "¿Que? What?" so quiet Beecher nearly missed it.

"Thankyou for making me feel so good," a pause "so wanted." He had nearly said needed but that was his secret.

Miguel pulled back, keeping his hold on Beecher's waist, praying he wouldn't let go of him but he had to look into the man's eyes. He'd sounded so honest and he needed to know it wasn't just a game. His face had that open expression again, no deceit in his eyes. Miguel couldn't be sure, he didn't know him well enough, he could be covering. "How?" his brows drawing in with doubt.

How the hell was he to answer that? He lifted a hand and Miguel's head turned to look at it. Beecher carried on not knowing that he'd done as the man had feared and placed it on his face, pulling his head level with his own so he could look right into those eyes. He couldn't see that much as they were dark and hidden in the shadows. Once more he used his thumb to play with the now slightly swollen lips. Miguel seemed frozen, staring back, but Beecher dropped his gaze to study those lips.

He took a deep breath at all the possibilities if Miguel could ever bring himself to go there. He ran it along the slightly crooked teeth and Miguel tried to capture it again but not this time. If there was to be a 'this time' it should be for Miguel not himself. He watched as Miguel allowed his head to be pushed around and as the tongue came out to lick at him, he pulled the head back and kissed him, trying to convey all he could not with words.

Miguel melted afresh in his arms, his hands moving up his back, pressing, catching on the fresh bruising causing Beecher to rear at the ache. Alvarez pulled away frightened he'd done the wrong thing yet again but Beecher wouldn't let him. Instead he swung him around, pushed him into the wall, kissed his cheek, his jaw line and his neck as the face moved upwards moaning out his pleasure.

Beecher was trapping him, crushing him and it felt wonderful. His cock immediately found new life and surely Beecher must feel it? He could feel his pressing in beside his own. He pushed forwards to be pushed back hard against the wall. His hands never stopped clutching, pulling at Beecher's back. Was he finally going to take him? He didn't realise he was moaning so loudly until a hand clamped across his mouth, a voice in his ear, "Quietly." He looked wide eyed as Beecher checked behind him to the Plexi.

An eternity went by then Beecher's attention was back on him as his mouth replaced the hand. Then a bearded cheek against his own as hands descended between them to undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers aside then to lay over his lips, pushing him firmly to the wall as Beecher crushed him in another kiss.

Tongues battled as the man's body was pressed hard against him. The mouth dragged a way across his face, along his jaw, his neck then head thrown back he felt Beecher descending, his face pushed into his chest, dragged down along his belly and felt whiskers grazing his so attentive cock. A lick and he froze.

This was not right. What was he doing going down on him? That was his place surely? Beecher was the strong one. Beecher was the one that deserved to have him on his knees not the other way around!

Beecher stopped. What the hell? Miguel was motionless. He looked up. Alvarez was starring down at him in horror. For fuck sake! He'd thought that if he did this it would give the man a little of that self esteem he needed, having Beecher go down on him giving him that intimate kiss. But obviously he wasn't ready for that. Alvarez' ideas on same sex sex must really be screwed up. Who turned down the chance of a blow-job in this place? First con that he'd met.

Beecher felt resigned, disappointed as visions of their positions reversed, Miguel's mouth, those lips warm around him fled. But he couldn't stop now. Would not. His prick hard again, as hard as the one he'd just felt against his face. He was determined to bring Miguel off and he would follow.

Alvarez watched Beecher as his hands, holding him painfully, used him to pull himself up to stand staring at him and he felt thumbs digging in deep either side of his prick. He didn't move. Beecher looked so angry, he could tell by the set of his features, the harsh breathing as if he had to stop himself from lashing out. "Perdóname. Perdóname" he begged desperately. Beecher's eyes dropped to his lips. "Perdóname," he kept repeating as his back tried to climb the wall. Do something anything; hit me anything but stop staring at me. He turned his face away. Shit. Shit. Shit! He was sorry. He knew he should allow Beecher anything he wanted but he'd panicked. It wouldn't have been right!

Beecher relaxed his hold as he felt Miguel move up and down the wall as if trying to climb away. It was turning him on big time. He knew it shouldn't, knew he shouldn't and that he would feel guilt afterwards. He ran hands up Miguel's sides up under his top, circled them around and down onto his small, tight ass. Miguel was shuddering. Beecher kissed him where the jawbone stood out below his ear, down along his throat, so exposed, and around, up his chin to his bottom lip.

As Miguel's face dropped he caught that mouth, playing with his lips gently but then as the man began to relax slightly, thrust his tongue in wanting to take possession and was welcomed. Pulling hard on Miguel's butt, he pushed himself against the rapidly re-hardening cock, rubbing hard. His boxers were a hindrance but he could not let go of that tight ass. Pulling back slightly, he instructed, "Miguel. Pull my boxers down!"

Alvarez could not believe this! He was still being kissed, still being touched, held. He'd thought he'd blown it completely this time. His hands scrabbled to obey, pushing the fabric down over hips, buttocks and at last Beecher's prick was rubbing against his own. His head threw back, his hands coming up to hold Beecher by his shoulders urging him on. Again and again Beecher pushed into him and after all the interruptions, all the hesitations, all of which were his fault, he finally was going to cum. "Si. Si. Por favor. Beecher …quiero. Quiero que me cojas. "

"Quiet!" hissed at him and his eyes shot open, "Besides.." Beecher laughed into his ear, "my Spanish is not that good."

He didn't know himself what he'd been saying or even that he'd been talking. More kisses to his neck, hands squeezing his buttocks tightly and, burying his face in Beecher's neck he told him, "I'll teach you".

Beecher smiled and pulled one hand from Miguel's ass and forced it between them grabbing at their cocks, stroking up and down, trapping them together. Miguel started mumbling something and he only got a few words 'please, yes, no,' all still contradictory. He continued to rub them, almost painfully with Miguel clutching at him, their temples together as they both looked down as if waiting for the explosion they wouldn't be able to see their bodies being pressed too closely together.

It didn't take much longer as another stroke, a squeeze and as Beecher's other hand moved over Miguel's ass, fingers dipping into the divide to rub over his arsehole, he felt the man shudder, jerk and cum warmly onto both their skin. Another pass, breathing deeply beside the man's ear and Beecher followed. He gave a final couple of strokes and together they jerked out their last to collapse against each other and the wall.

Recovering, Beecher made to pull away but Miguel would not have it, hands moving to tightly hold him close. He tried again to pull his hand from Miguel's ass but he was trapped tight to the wall. So he remained held fast with a face buried in his neck once more. He managed to extricate his hand from between them, feeling their combined cum as it spread further up his stomach. At a loss what to do with his covered hand, he laid his arm across Miguel's shoulders, hand sticking out and smiled, waiting.

Miguel never wanted to move. He felt so calm, relaxed with all of his distress gone as Beecher had brought him to this place. He relished the hand on his arse, a finger every now and then twitching against its rim. So he hadn't been fucked as he'd wanted but that was okay. Beecher had ignored his panic and, continuing, made him cum and now held him still. The finger seemed to promise, if not now, soon. He could wait. He had no choice. It was all up to Beecher. He belonged to him and maybe someday Miguel would feel that Beecher belonged to him too? Right now this was enough. More in fact than he'd ever imagined. He was safe and he was sated.

A yell. The sound of Plexiglas being hit hard, running feet and they swiftly broke apart. Alvarez to stand there terrified. 'No! Not the 'Hole' now'. Please not now. Beecher was pulling up his boxers while turning around but it wasn't them. He searched, found his T-shirt and pulling it over his head called, "Miguel. Go to the window." He didn't move. "Miguel!" Beecher hissed as he washed his hands. "Do yourself up. Go to the window. Everyone else will...Now!" Alvarez pulled and did up his jeans, moving to the glass.

Beecher was correct, everyone was there banging the Plexi, watching to see who had issued the shout that had awoken them, those that actually slept. They watched as two struggling figures were hauled away, the blood covering both a testament that they had not been able to sort it out 'peacefully'.

Beecher scrubbed at his eyes as if he'd just awoken standing beside Alvarez. "Quieten down!" a Hack yelled and men began to disappear, the entertainment being over for now. Alvarez turned to look questioningly at him. "Get some sleep," and Miguel immediately went to lie on his bunk.

'Shit', thought Beecher frowning, 'he's at my beck and call'. He noticed Bob stood starring at him, that disapproving expression evident. He'd forgotten the old man would be watching out for him. Beecher knew he didn't approve of him having sex with anyone here but never said a word as he could tell you all with just one look.

He felt the guilt he'd known would be waiting for him and, as he turned, saw Miguel lying there looking up at him also waiting. A knife turned in his stomach. Shit. Shit Fucking Shit! As he stood looking down, Alvarez raised himself on elbows. He smiled down, not showing what he felt and repeated but more kindly, "Get some sleep," and climbed up into his bunk.

Miguel watched him disappear, watched as the bunk above moved a couple of times then was still. He lay back and could practically feel their combined fluid on his stomach burn into him. Peeling up his shirt he put a hand to it, rubbing it in slowly and with his fingers dipping under his waistband, discovered a new worry. He had to know, dare to ask. "Beecher?"

"Yeah?"

He was so gladdened that finished with him, Beecher had not immediately fallen asleep. "What's..." a small voice. He tried to speak a little more firmly, "What's wrong with my body?"

"What?" Beecher leant over the side and looked in at him. "Nothing. Why?" Alvarez was biting his thumbnail again, the eyes fixed on him. It was pathetic, Beecher found himself thinking uncharitably. He had some serious thinking to do about what had been crossing his mind. Maybe he didn't know himself that well after all. "Well?" last chance.

"Then why.." Damn it, he finished in a rush, "Why didn't you want to undress me? See me naked?"

'Think fast, Beecher'. He hadn't wanted to waste the time once they finally 'got somewhere'. He lay back down and heard another piece of nail die. "Because, Miguel, if I had? What would I look forwards to tomorrow night?"

Silence.

Very carefully he leant over again. Alvarez was on his side, snuggling down and he was sure he could detect a small smile on his lips. He lay back once more and decided that thinking could wait and turning, was soon asleep.

==000==

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

The lights came on too soon as Alvarez had only just gone to sleep. He surfaced slowly, hand covering his eyes. Shit, he was tired. He swung around to sit on the side of the thin mattress, not surprised at still being dressed but was puzzled at the aching on his butt. Rubbing a hand across his belly he stopped as he felt the fabric stiff. He looked up and around the Pod. Everything was different, the wrong way around, all in the wrong place. Then he smiled.

Movement in the bunk above and he sat waiting for Beecher to jump down. And waited. Standing, he looked at Beecher, a nail at his mouth. It would be 'Count' soon. Reaching out, he gently shook the still sleeping man's shoulder eliciting nothing but a grunt. He shook harder saying his name. Beecher awoke with a start, eyes wide looking straight at him. " Fuck!" he exclaimed.

Alvarez shot straight backwards. He'd felt so good but now Beecher couldn't even stand the sight of him. He crashed against the sink and stood horrified as the man jumped down off the bunk coming at him fast, hands raised. Miguel covered his head. He was going to hit him!

Beecher grabbed him, forcing him around, pulling his arms down. "Look, Miguel. Look."

He forced himself to with Beecher still holding him. He groaned. His face was raw. He delicately put fingers to his swollen lips, to the red raw skin around. His own stubble had not protected him from the man's beard. Hands on the sink, he dropped his head and his gaze from the mirror. Now everyone would know. "Fuck," and felt Beecher's head land on his shoulder. He was shaking. He studied him in the mirror. He was laughing at him, again. "It's not funny, man," under his breath.

Beecher's head rose to look at him through the mirror, desperately trying to stop laughing. He supposed it wouldn't be amusing from where Miguel stood. "You're right. I'm sorry," getting it down to a grin.

"I can't go out like this!" he was really starting to panic.

Beecher reached around him, searched through the stuff on the shelf. Good, it was still there. Hadn't used it for a while. Turning Alvarez to face him, he squeezed out some of the shaving balm onto his fingers and began to smooth it into his face, into the abused skin. He couldn't think of anything else to do. Getting some more, he rubbed it into the other side and above the lips. His thumb began more of an exploration, thinking he would have to shave but not yet as that would be too obvious. He wanted to capture that succulent mouth.

On the one hand, Miguel was relieved, Beecher still wanted him and from the expression, now, but his panic continued to grow as he could hear people outside and soon he would have to line up. Everyone would see him. Everyone would know!

"Count!" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck...

Beecher quickly dropped his hand, looking at the evidently frightened man but there was nothing left he could do. Quickly, he dragged on his pants and grey fleece and, on leaving the Pod, had to go back and grab at Miguel to get him to move.

It was a nightmare for him, stood there head down. His thumbnail, what was left of it, got the treatment. He normally managed to keep that recent habit from public view but hopefully his hand would cover his face and not draw extra attention to it. He knew, even as he stood slightly behind Beecher, that everyone must be staring at him.

Gazing up, looking around, he caught the eye of O'Riely. On the upper tier at the other end of the row, Alvarez' old place, he smiled down at him. Fuck, if he could tell from so far away, what chance? Released, he turned, stopping himself just, from fleeing back into the Pod and threw himself face down onto his bunk and wanted, at that moment, to die.

Beecher was tardier following, having exchanged a few words with their neighbours and, signalling with a push for Miguel to move over, sat on the edge of the bunk. Miguel was in a hell all of his own. Beecher must be loving this. He hadn't seen his face in the line up but just bet it had been gloating, showing off his 'conquest'. He could feel the man playing with the hem of his shirt then the hand lay heavy in the centre of his back. Miguel sank, even now, as that touch could make him give up, give in.

Beecher starred down thinking what he could do to reassure Miguel. His face wasn't that obvious but he damn well knew that the rest could spot the smallest thing. His hand started sliding up and down the man's back, he could feel the muscles clenching then relaxing beneath his touch. He slowed, trying to convey a soothing caress but found his hand with each pass moving further and further down, pushing under the too large waistband. Miguel's face was buried in the scant pillow, hands by his head, grasping at the sheet beneath. "Want come get a shower?"

Did Beecher want to show him off more? "Can't," small, despondent, spoken into the pillow.

Beecher shook him lightly, "Didn't catch that."

Alvarez turned his head away then sank back to the pillow, "Can't. Please don't make me."

Beecher was exasperated, not this again. Alvarez had seemed just a little more in control this morning, after that is, he realised that he wasn't going to hit him. Only a little but he'd taken it as a good sign. "Miguel. I told you. I won't make you do anything you don't want to...But you could do with one."

Shit. Now he was telling him he smelt, that he was dirty. A groan, "But I can't"

"Why not, for fuck sake?"

Now he'd managed to make Beecher angry and it wasn't even breakfast yet. He pleaded, "But then they would see."

"Your face? It's not that bad." He only lied a little.

That hand at the base of his spine was driving Alvarez crazy it felt so good. He rose up, leaning on elbows, fingers picking at each other as he watched them. "No. My butt."

What? Checking the window, Beecher reached under to undo the buttons feeling Alvarez rise, allowing him access. He pulled back the jeans and underwear and saw the bruises livid and definitely from fingers, the pattern on each cheek testimony of what he'd done. Damn. He knew he'd held him tight but he must have really hurt him and he'd said nothing. "I'm sorry, Miguel." He'd marked him, not permanently like the brand on his own ass, but, never the less, it was obvious.

He replaced the jeans then ran a hand inside over the damaged flesh trying to soothe but in reality could not resist. "If anything.." he suggested "it looks like you were on top." This didn't go down well as Miguel groaned wretchedly into his pillow. Well, he supposed, it wouldn't really help. "Come on, we could both do with a shower. We won't let anyone see."

"You know, if I were a Hack, you two would be heading for a stint in the 'Hole' right now?" Alvarez went rigid and Beecher shot around to look up at the smug face.

"Fuck off, O'Riely!"

He just moved deeper into the Pod. "Got business with the Hermano here."

Beecher stood and looked down at the silent figure then at O'Riely, the threat evident on his face. Then, collecting his gear, he headed out for the showers. Maybe if Alvarez became involved in something with the Irishman it would get some of his confidence back. But he would watch.

Miguel turned slightly to look up at him "What d'you want?" He didn't get up, he couldn't. His pants undone, he could feel his burgeoning erection pressing into the mattress. O'Riely took Beecher's place on the bunk, lifted up his waistband and laughed. Alvarez pushed him away, his face a picture of hostility, covering his shame. Ryan hankered down close to his head. He'd thought there was something and on closer inspection, saw his face and with what he had just seen and heard….!

"Having fun?" gazing at his ass.

"Fuck off"

"Now that's not very nice. Your secret's safe with me."

Yeah right! "What d'you want?"

Checking the Plexi, O'Riely reached into a sock and pulled out a few folded bills. "Your cut bro'. Always pay what's due."

If Miguel didn't know him he might have believed. He had a thought "Don't want it," looking him in the eye. Ryan looked back feigning astonishment. "Want something else."

"And what's that?" with a wicked glint, "Baby lotion? Something pretty to wear?"

He found himself flat on the floor, hands at his throat as Alvarez launched off the bunk pinning him to the ground. Ryan managed to throw him off, "Okay. Okay. Fuck!" and sat rubbing his neck.

Alvarez stood, starring hate down at him as he pulled up his pants and fastened them. Ryan saw movement. "Nothin' Officer," hands up. The Hack didn't believe him but as neither was bleeding, moved off and anyway. "Shit, Alvarez. It was just a joke!" But he was obviously not in the mood.

"Get the fuck out."

Ryan slowly stood. "So what was the something else?" Alvarez began to move towards him. "Look. Okay. I'm sorry. We're in business. I may need your help again soon. So what can I do for you?" Alvarez had proved useful. He could use him again and if it went wrong, well hey, he was an expendable commodity. So he could do with keeping him sweet for a while.

Alvarez hopped onto the top bunk, Beecher's bunk he reminded himself, thought of the hand caressing his ass. Focus, this was for him. He'd thought just to get O'Riely to keep the shower room clear while he was in there, he already knew what had happened, wanted his belly told him, but he didn't need everyone to see and Beecher had told him to have one. Now he began to dwell on his larger aims, on what he'd decided to do to level the balance out a bit, if only in his own mind, and also to keep Beecher safe. Keep him near. He owed him and...

"So give. You're daydreaming. Happy thoughts...?" Ryan stopped short at the glare. "So what then?"

In a steady voice he didn't feel, he told him, "I helped you get rid of someone. Now you help me."

O'Riely looked at him, looked in the direction of the showers. Pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "You don't mean Beecher?" incredulous. From what he'd noticed over the last week Alvarez had set himself up for this. "Let the Nazi Fucks do it. It's only a matter of time."

Alvarez was starring at him intently. "I know. That's why you gotta help me 'n' it ain't Beecher that has to go!"

"Ah!" So he wanted to eliminate the threat to Beecher. He 'had' set himself up for the ass raking or, judging by the looks of the bruises he'd seen, the other way around. But had Beecher really allowed himself to taken with, by, another psycho? He didn't think so as Alvarez was definitely not his old self. Ryan had noticed the cracks in his facade and somehow just knew he was on the bottom as it were.

"Okay. Which one?"

"You mean which one first."

Shit, it would be hard enough getting one, let alone two. He'd assumed that the target was Shillinger but who else? Robson? This was going to be hard.

"You still here?" and Alvarez practically leapt off the bunk to stand nervously watching Beecher. He was trying to cover it but Ryan could read people well. Had to.

"Just leaving. Got breakfast to make." He couldn't resist and leaning close to Alvarez, he sniffed, "He's right you know? I can smell it on you." And walking out, waved, "Later, Amante"

"You alright?" Miguel just nodded in reply and watched as Beecher dumped his pile of clothes on his footlocker and, as he removed the towel from across his shoulders, saw all the bruising there. He winced. Beecher's shoulders were a replica of what he thought his butt must look like and there was a straight line across his back. It took him awhile but 'the stairs' he thought. So if he'd already caused that, they were fading, no wonder Beecher had gotten his revenge on his ass.

"You're not getting into anything I should know about?" Miguel shook his head from side to side. Beecher paused and looked at him closely "Humm," and began to select clean clothes and dressed.

'It's obvious he don't believe me', thought Alvarez.

"You know? Maybe if you ate a proper meal, your nails wouldn't taste so good!"

He jammed his hands into pockets. Wasn't there anything he did that didn't annoy Beecher?

Tobias looked at him, 'be patient' he thought, stood there, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped, head hanging. His eyes were flitting across the floor and he was biting at that swollen bottom lip again. That last was what did it to him. Standing there, right now, he wanted to have him, throw him down and just do it, fuck him if he liked it or not. Of course it was impossible.

He began thinking on where he could take him and, as an idea began forming, he stopped, going cold. Shit, what was happening to him? He wasn't like that, couldn't do that to him, to anyone. He was disgusted with himself. "Come on. Let's go get something to eat."

Miguel didn't move, just shrank even more into himself. So, he still didn't want to be seen. "Fine!" exasperated and turning to leave said, "At least change your clothes!" and stormed out.

Miguel watched him go, wanting to chase after and placate him. No, there obviously wasn't anything he did that didn't annoy the man.

==000==

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

Waiting for Em City to clear save a couple of Hacks and the odd other staying inside their Pods, more sleep, plotting or hiding like him, he didn't know, he searched through his meagre belongings. Maybe O'Riely was right and he should get something new. Checking around, he moved quickly to the shower room, thankfully deserted and stripping, scrubbed himself over and over under the hot jets. If Beecher thought he smelt it was one thing he could do something about.

Keeping an eye out, he kept his back to the wall hidden just in case. Actually always a wise idea when you thought you were alone. Finished, his skin stinging, he picked up his discarded clothes and more or less skittered back to the Pod. Dressing in his only change of clothes, he realised how hungry he was. Damn. He was going to have to face them at lunch, he had to eat but peering at his reflection he didn't know how he could. His chin and around his lips looked even sorer after his shower.

Looking around like a naughty child about to do something it knew to be wrong, he searched through Beecher's stuff on the shelf. Picking up the shaving balm, he hesitated to use it. But surely he wouldn't be angry with him, after all, he was preparing himself for him.

His hand froze as he had a memory of a pot of lip balm. But that was what he was doing once more, preparing himself, this time trying to calm down his skin so Beecher could, would kiss him again. He should also shave, wanting to look his best for him, but his skin was just so sore and it would only make it worse. He'd been told to shower, to change his clothes but the man had not mentioned shaving so hopefully Beecher wouldn't mind.

He collapsed, sitting on his bunk, balm still in hand unopened. He was pathetic and he knew it. No wonder he annoyed Beecher so much.

Before, the man had fallen for a strong male, well it had been more complicated than that from what he could tell, but what did this Alvarez really have to offer in his present state except an available body with plenty of emotional baggage? But whatever he was, he was grateful for anything the man was willing to do with, to him and more than that, he craved it. So he should be willing to do anything, anything at all to keep him happy, keep him interested.

Echoes of the past began to intrude and he shook his head, hand kneading his temple trying to dispel the memories. Once back to thinking of Beecher, next time he was told to get something to eat he would face the sneers, the knowing looks, the derision because if Beecher did want to show him off, publicise the power he had over him, then so be it. The alternative, that he would upset Beecher, that Beecher wouldn't want him, would never touch him again, was unbearable.

His life was repeating, his thoughts the same but now he had to do as he was told because he didn't want to loose Beecher now that he'd found him and it was so different than just trying to survive until morning, until a change of shifts. No, he had to forget the past, just put it aside only retaining what he'd learnt from the experience, how he could 'please' the older man. Alvarez shuddered.

He hadn't realised he'd been biting each of his nails, not just his thumb; in fact he had started on the skin around them, until the toast landed in his lap. He looked up startled. He had lost awareness of his surroundings and time. Stupid. Dangerous. But it was Beecher stood over him with a look of concern on his face quickly covered. Miguel's heart leapt. So Beecher did care for him a bit but of course he wouldn't allow himself just to accept that so easily.

"Sorry, it's a bit squashed." And the man walked back out.

Beecher had noticed the change of clothes, the wet towel. He couldn't help it, they were all over the floor. So he'd left, ignoring the impulse to chastise Miguel about it. He wasn't a child and didn't think it would help his esteem to be treated like one but please, don't let him be a slob. He had obviously managed to pluck up the will to cross the quad to the showers and back. Patience, he reminded himself, although they couldn't afford too much of it. Miguel had to be more aware, more self-reliant. Cautioning himself not to get lost in thoughts of Alvarez, Beecher turned to get through the day.

Miguel sat contemplating the toast. Beecher had risked the 'Hole" smuggling food out for him. Once he began, his stomach took over and, finished, he remained seated, starring through the floor. Eventually he came back to notice his dirty clothes were strewn everywhere along with the sopping wet towel, so at least he had something to do this morning. He idly wondered when he'd be allowed a work assignment.

Grabbing it all up, he looked at Beecher's much neater pile of laundry, and grabbed that too. That was something he could do for him and, shoving it all into one load, no one would notice. He managed to pass the morning quietly; no one bothered him, the others with him in Em City without work all finding ways to pass the time, one of the most difficult things to do.

So when Beecher came out of his way to collect him, intending to force him if necessary to go and get something to eat, he found Alvarez sat in exactly the same place, rubbing balm into his face but appearing contented. He noted the changes to the Pod; clean clothes folded on his locker, everything in its place. He'd even made up both bunks. "Thank you," remembering a time that he'd been forced to play housemaid for another, "but you don't have to do this for me."

"De nada." Shrugging. "Had nothing else to do."

Beecher let it lie. He moved forwards and, on lifting Miguel's head, noticed that the eyes did not come up to meet his. Moving the head side to side by his chin, "Your face has calmed down. Fancy joining me for some lunch?" all he got was a blink in response.

Miguel knew his face was still red and although he should do what the man told him, he begged silently, 'please don't make me'. He still didn't want the rest to know, not so much that that they fucked, well not exactly but soon, in that way they were far from unique, but that this man had such all compassing affect on him. It was the way he acted around him he knew he wouldn't be able to hide it well enough.

Beecher could not resist. He ran his thumb along that bottom lip and as the mouth opened slightly, along the inside against the teeth. Up, lifting his top lip back and forth, running along his top teeth then stood back leaning, arms crossed, against the sink. "Miguel?"

"Si?" still watching the floor.

"How come you'll let me 'play' with your mouth but won't look at me?" Just a shrug in response.

"Look at me." A quick flit then back to the floor.

"Look. At. Me." Finally, but it was up through lashes as the head dropped. Sighing, Beecher moved to kneel in front of him. The man had spent days starring at him. "There was a time, not so very long ago, when you couldn't keep your eyes off me." Not now though.

He was watching his hands playing with the tube of balm. Beecher took it from him, throwing it onto the bunk. Alvarez looked after it then back to his hands, fingers picking at each other before him.

"Why you are acting like this."

"Perdóname." Then remembering, "I'm sorry, forgive me."

Beecher took hold of his hands. "Talk to me. Tell me what it is that you think I want from you. "

Miguel didn't want to talk. If he did tell him his thoughts, he would think him even weaker than he thought himself and he didn't want to let Beecher down because, even though he controlled him now, Alvarez belonged to him completely, he sensed Beecher wanted him to be different, stronger. He didn't understand really. Unless he wanted to dominate some one who was more of a challenge, who would put up a fight? But then why pick him? Yet he was here with him, spending time with him, wanting to talk with him.

He longed to tell him all, to unburden himself and maybe Beecher could help him understand himself for he did not. He wanted to tell him all that he had already done for him, all that he wanted him to do for him, to him. But how could he? Could he really trust him with his inner most thoughts as he had his body? His body was not as fragile.

Beecher's hands started to caress, play with his fingers, rub the backs of his hands, his palms. He felt himself begin to get lost in that touch. "Beecher?"

"Si?"

He was making fun of him again! He pulled his hands away, wrapping his arms over his stomach in that defensive gesture again.

"Oh, shit," Beecher said trying for a laughing tone, "Is my accent that bad? You promised to teach me Spanish remember?"

Vaguely. So Beecher did actually listen to him. He stopped watching the man's hands and looked to the face gentle before him.

"Miguel?" the eyes dropped, "Are you scared of me?" It should be ridiculous but he got that impression.

"N...o" it didn't sound convincing.

His legs were going numb so he got up and sat beside him. 'Well, if he can go without lunch, so can I'. He was not leaving until they'd sorted this out. He was fed up with tiptoeing about, especially as he wasn't very good at it apparently. "Neither of us is leaving here till you talk to me." And leant his elbows on his knees, hands clasped as Alvarez was want to do. "You know don't you, that you have no reason to be?"

Miguel was confused again and tiring of it. He wanted things to be clear between them but this was so hard. He had so much riding on doing, on saying the right thing but didn't know what that was. "To be what?" timidly as he knew he shouldn't have to make Beecher repeat himself but he'd drifted off again and lost the train of thought.

"To be scared of me," he laughed derisively, "not many are!" In fact he could think of no one.

But Miguel was.

He was scared of what he could do to him, not physically but emotionally and of what he already had. A year ago, a month even, he would not have believed he could be caught like this but he was. He said nothing so Beecher tried again

"I am going to ask you some questions and you are going to answer me. Understand?" Miguel began on his nails again. "Stop that!" and he did. Beecher remembered the night before when he'd only gotten a response to 'orders'. "You understand me?"

"Yes," very quietly.

But where to begin, what to ask? "Will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes."

"What color are my eyes?"

"You know," sounding puzzled. This was not what Miguel was expecting and had no idea where it could be leading but was sure he was going to be asked things he either didn't know or didn't want to answer. After all, he'd been interrogated enough to know that he had to be careful. But..

"I know that I know. This is going to take a very long time if you won't even answer that and you promised to tell me the truth. What color are my eyes?"

"Blue"

"So, if you've looked closely enough to know that, why will you not look at me when you talk to me? Not that you do much."

Was that one question or two? And he didn't want to tell him. His thumb headed to his mouth.

"Miguel!"

So he sat as he so often did now, elbows on knees, hands clasped, not noticing himself imitating Beecher who was in turn imitating him. "So?"

"So what?" his face screwed up trying to follow.

"Miguel, please concentrate. Why won't you look at me when you talk to me? Or I speak to you in fact."

A pause then, "Don't want.." he took a deep breath, "don't want see you angry at me." If he had to do this he might as well admit it all and then he would know what Beecher decided to do with him. He prayed he wouldn't decide he was more trouble than he was worth.

"And why should I be angry with you?"

"Coz I don't do what you want right."

Beecher wanted to tell him it shouldn't matter what he wanted done right or not but he had to find out what Miguel was thinking. "And why is that?"

"I don't know. If I did it right you wouldn't get mad at me"

It was Beecher's turn to be lost, "Why should you do what I want?"

"You know." Why was he torturing him?

"No. Honestly I don't." Silence, so he repeated his question.

"Because I'm.." Miguel couldn't finish.

"Because you're what?" Whatever it was, he sensed it was the cause of the internal struggle he had seen going on.

"Because I'm your Prag," a very small voice.

Beecher sighed in exasperation making Miguel flinch slightly. Not this again. He thought they'd laid that one to rest. "But you told me you couldn't be, wouldn't be." Not to mention he'd made it clear he didn't want Miguel like that.

Silence, nothing. Miguel was waiting for a question. He'd been told to answer questions.

"Did you not say that?"

"Yes"

"So why do you think that you are?"

Why was he asking these things? It was obvious. He must just want him to admit it.

"Answer me!" If demanding, ordering was needed then for now so be it.

"I belong to you. You claimed me."

First Beecher knew of it. "How did I claim you?"

"You know. You must do!" he was close to tears, his voice choking.

"Tell me!"

"You put your hand on my shoulder."

Beecher remembered and was beginning to regret it. But how could that small action have gotten to this?

"And that's all?"

"N..o"

"Tell me!"

Alvarez sprang off the bunk heading for the door. He couldn't cope with this. Why was Beecher tormenting him so? He already knew he had him so why go through all this? He was grabbed and pushed to the back of the cell where Beecher held him against the wall.

"You want to know what makes me angry? You want to know why you can't do things right? It's because you won't look me in the eye. It's because you won't talk to me. What do you except from me? I don't understand you. I don't understand why you think I want to own you. And above all I don't understand why you would want me to!"

He stopped, whether due to his initial bout of frustration running out of steam or that Miguel was trying to get away from him without actually touching him or the face, so miserable, tears beginning to leak from tightly shut eyes. Beecher stepped back and let him go, "Don't you dare sink to he floor!" as he began to do so. Turning away, trying to gain some equilibrium, he saw Murphy watching them. Damn! He did not want to be taken away now, this needed to be sorted.

The Chief Officer opened the Pod door, taking in the scene but came no further. "I don't know, Beecher. Seems to me you're not having the effect Sister Pete is hoping for." Beecher scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Now, I'm supposed to keep an eye on you two, while letting you be. But you're making it awful hard. So what're you goin' to do to make it easier?" and stood waiting.

Beecher just looked straight ahead. What was the Nun up to? She'd not been around when he had needed her so what was she doing now? Was this really a scheme to help Alvarez, which he hadn't exactly agreed to, or trying to find him a less dangerous playmate to make up for the fuck up with Chris? He couldn't believe it but wouldn't put it past the woman. She had her devious side just as did everyone else around here.

"Right then," Murphy continued as no one else spoke, "You will keep it down so I don't notice what is going on in here. Okay?" Silence. "I'm waiting for an answer"

"Yes," Beecher replied tensely.

"It'll do. Remember the rules," as he left the Pod, "No fighting, no fucking and, do yourselves a favour? Even avoid strong language," and with that lifting of eyebrows, left.

Beecher looked over at Alvarez. He hadn't sank down but was turned to the wall, hands hiding his face. Beecher felt anger welling for various reasons and walked to look out of the Pod. Men were filtering back into Em City. He had missed lunch, he hadn't realised that this had taken so long. Murphy was back up at the guard's station and he should be heading back for his afternoon stint at office work but she would have to do without him. If that was a problem it was down to her anyway.

That wasn't completely true but he was in no mood to be fair. He was saddled with a man he couldn't fathom, who was driving him crazy but turned him on big time. That he'd gotten himself into a situation where he was open once more to being so affected by another man's proximity was what was really making him angry.

Swinging around to look at that man, he knew he couldn't blame Miguel for that and shouldn't take it out on him. Moving towards him, he did once more what had started all this, and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezed in what he hoped would be taken as reassurance then waited.

Miguel had thought that they were both heading to the 'Hole' and it would have been his fault. He turned to look out of the corner of his eye at Beecher. He could feel the hand just the same as that first time and after all his arguing with himself, decisions made and ignored, he still felt the same as he had. Now Beecher was waiting, for him, was still here for him and he deserved to have the truth, to have him if...if he still wanted to.

He swung around and threw himself at the man then held on for dear life. "Perdone. Perdone, Beecher, ustedes quer!" sobbing into his ear, it all came out in a rush as Beecher's arms encircled him, held him. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I want you, so much. Please, don't push me away. Anything, I'll do anything you want. You can do anything you want to me. Please, don't push me away. Want me. Take me, use me. I want you to, please" and he started to kiss him. His cheek, his neck, quick and desperate.

Beecher was following some of this but not all. He didn't like it but Miguel was finally saying something to solve this mystery so he just held him, trying to follow, trying to understand. "You make me feel so good. So safe. Please don't be angry at me. I know I'm not strong like him, I'll try to be but its so hard." He felt Beecher tense up, he knew of whom he spoke and realised instantly that it had been a mistake, so again he told him, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You can do anything you want to me. I want you to. Use me. Fuck me. Anyway you want. I'll do anything. You have me. I'll..."

Beecher could not let this continue, "Stop this."

It was amazing as Alvarez went silent instantly,letting go of his hold on him, head down. He pushed him back and held him by the shoulders. "Now you listen to me, and listen well this time." He tried to look him in the eye but Alvarez would not let him. He cupped his jaw, trying to lift the head without having to hurt him. "Look at me!" and finally he had his attention. "Keep looking at me. I do not want to have to say this again."

He took a calming breath, wiped the tears from the tortured face and ran his hand around to hold his head still. "I do _not_ own you. I do _not_ want a 'bitch'." Panic in the eyes. "Miguel I _do_ want you! You say I make you feel good. Well you make me feel good too. _You_ do that to me. I do not want you to think that you need do anything I want. You do what _you_ want!"

Was he getting through? He let go, stepped back and glanced over his shoulder. He didn't want anyone to see Miguel like this. Turning back, he was relieved to see that he was still looking at him even if he had wrapped his arms tight across his waist once more. "Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

Miguel nodded. Beecher raised his eyebrows as if to say are you sure?

"Beecher?" Tobias wondered if the young man would ever use his first name. He waited, he wasn't going to give permission to speak. "Beecher? Do you want me? Really?"

There seemed to be a whole world riding on his answer. Could he cope with the responsibility he was being asked? Did he want to? He answered gently and with the truth. "Yes, Miguel. I do want you."

All the anguish, all the uncertainty vanished from his face. That was all Miguel needed to know. Anything else didn't matter. Beecher wanted him. Now, as he was. All other thoughts fled. Tentatively, as if still not believing, he moved to Beecher, arms relaxing to his sides then up slowly to grasp the front of his grey hooded top. Biting at his lower lip, his eyes slid up and then he looked Beecher in the eye.

Toby ran his own hands along Miguel's arms to hold onto his elbows and waited. Miguel let go of his lip, leaning in, hands scrunching up the fabric and laid his parted lips on Beecher's. He kissed him once, twice then, feeling the response, leaned into him for a long languid kiss. It was perfect, no questing, no expectations, just perfect.

The kiss ended naturally and Alvarez felt that peace again and Beecher felt hope. Running the back of his bent fingers down his cheek Beecher asked, "If I come back for you, will you join me for some dinner?"

Miguel acted as if he blushed and laughed slightly. He was high, floating.

"What?" Beecher wanted to know laughingly. The head had gone down again and he bent to catch his eyes. "Will you tell me?"

Miguel shook his head but smiled. "It sounded like you were asking me out on a date."

Beecher was delighted once more. He encircled the thin frame, pulling his head onto his shoulder. "Will you?"

"Si," and with that Beecher kissed his cheek then left.

==000==

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Alvarez braved the stares in the canteen but, still self-conscious, he ate with head down everything that had been placed on his tray. He didn't join in the conversation but listened to the banter, so different to the silence of his self-imposed isolation and what he'd been used to before. No plotting, no scheming, just conversation. It was nice. He'd never known that people here could make each other laugh just for the sake of it and without detriment to anyone else. He saw the men that surrounded Beecher in a new light and it was a warm one.

Through the short time before 'Lockdown' he stayed close to him. He still felt as if he were drawing warmth from him, strength, as they watched some inane TV program. They did not speak, there was no need, and he had nothing to say that was for other ears. Also he kept quiet for he knew Beecher was much more 'well read' than him and he didn't want to appear ignorant on top of the emotional mess he'd already shown.

He vowed he would try to reclaim some of his former self. The self when he was in control. When he'd had respect. He knew Beecher wanted it and so did he. But as Beecher shifted on the hard seat, their thighs touching briefly, he knew that when alone with this man he would always melt, become soft and go wherever he took him.

He made another vow as he sat there. One day, he would wipe that knowing smug grin off O'Riely's face, sat there smirking at him but for now he needed him, smirk and all. He'd noticed the interest his new proximity to Beecher had caused in the canteen amongst Shillinger and the rest. He was going to have to make a move and soon.

Finally it was time for 'Count' and 'Lockdown'. He managed to appear as reluctant as the rest heading into Beecher's Pod. He couldn't think of it as his own and wondered if he ever would. Besides, how long would his luck last that he should remain in here? He dreaded the thought that McManus would decide his latest scheme a mistake and return to the old.

A hand took his thumb from his mouth and smoothed across his forehead. He let out a sigh and sat on his bunk looking up at Toby. Toby. He wasn't sure when he'd began to think of him as Toby rather than Beecher but was glad he had. "Want to tell me?" he was asked. He shook his head but quickly touched his leg hoping it conveyed 'its not you'.

Nodding, Beecher grabbed up his book and hopped up onto his bunk. Miguel moved, stretching out, head on folded arms as he stared out of the Pod. He was sure they were both just waiting for 'Lights Out'. He knew that he was.

=0=

He awoke suddenly. The lights were still on so he was quietly amazed. He couldn't remember a time when he'd just fallen asleep unconcerned by his surrounding like this. But what had awakened him? Glancing into the Pod, he saw Beecher at the toilet and looked away. That brought on a new worry. He came to realise he needed to piss himself but did not like the idea of doing it in front of the man, let alone when he needed to sit on it. It was stupid, it had never bothered him before but now it gnawed at him. How long till Lights Out? He had no idea how long he had slept.

Done, Beecher resumed his seat and after a minute or so he heard the turning of a page. Damn he needed to piss. Getting up, he moved to the toilet and anxiously glanced at Toby. His face was buried in the book, either it was enthralling or he was giving him as much privacy as he could. Once more Miguel felt gratitude. He had so much to feel grateful for and doubted he would ever be able to pay him back. He was nevertheless willing to try.

Finished, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He really should shave. His skin had calmed down somewhat but if he were clean-shaven, what would he look like in the morning? He knew they were going to have sex, well, they would if he did have any say in the matter. Running a hand over his chin it didn't feel that sore and he began to search for his razor and stuff. A page turned, "I'd wait till morning if I were you," softly from the bunk behind him. He turned to see Toby watching over the top of the book. He couldn't help it, he smiled bashfully, so did Toby, anything but shyly then he carried on reading.

Alvarez thought maybe he should try reading something, after all he had fuck all else to do with his days while Beecher was at his computer. Except plotting that is. Then possibly he could have a bit more in common with the man. He would give it a shot but knew he wasn't very good at it. It wasn't the reading, he could do that no problem, he just couldn't concentrate. He would try.

Now he stood at a loss what to do so he turned back, putting down the razor and, picking up his brush, cleaned his teeth, washed hands and face, basically getting ready for bed but in reality for Toby. How long till 'Lights Out'? He kicked off his shoes, thought to undress then thought of something said the night before and lay down fully clothed and waited once more.

=0=

Waking as the bunk shook, he couldn't believe he had fallen asleep again. It was dark now and all was quiet. He rose up onto his elbows, hand rubbing at his eyes then took in a surprised breath. Beecher was crouched next to him. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"

"Fuck no!" then felt embarrassed.

Beecher grinned, that was the most definite thing he'd heard him say. Trying to get up, Miguel found a hand in the centre of his back pushing him down. "Stay there," and Beecher stood, turning to look for something.

He dared not move. It was going to happen. Beecher was going to take him. Right now! He was apprehensive but excited all at the same time. Already he could feel his cock stirring just from the thought of it. Then Toby was there, his hand once more on his back rubbing up and down his skin, higher then lower under his clothes, under the waistband of his jeans. Once more he allowed access as his pants were undone and pulled down slightly. He sank into the bunk as a hand ran over his buttocks under the fabric as if a continuation of what had been interrupted that morning.

His hand enjoying the contours of Miguel's ass, Beecher ran his other up his back, moving the top out of the way as he bent to kiss along his spine. He determined he would try to make this, he knew Miguel's first time with a man, with him, as pleasurable as he could. He would not rush, would not just fuck him, which is what he so wanted to do, but take his time and savour each moment. He didn't want to hurry Miguel, didn't want him to decide he'd made a mistake, that he didn't want this after all. He could not bare the thought now. He'd waited too long to feel this turned on and by someone he could care about and he knew now that he did, indeed, care about Miguel.

Miguel himself was finding it increasingly difficult to keep still as the kisses proceeded up his spine. He'd been told to stay put but the hand on his backside, circling, every so often delving into the divide of his buttocks, was causing his hips to shift as he practically wriggled then he began to push his butt up onto that hand. Fingers passed lightly over his arsehole and he forced his face deeper into the pillow groaning. Then the contact was gone as his top was being lifted up over his shoulders so he rose up enabling Toby to push it off, over his head. His already hardening prick pushed into the rough blanket.

Then he sank back, his arms over his head as the shirt was pulled off and clear. He rubbed his face on the pillow, his hands clutching at the bunk uprights as Toby's mouth resumed its exploration of his back, his shoulders. The whiskers, lightly scratching at his attentive skin, was a wholly new experience. He couldn't take much more of this as his whole body began to squirm. It was wonderful but he craved harder handling.

Kisses to the back of his neck, hands circling around his sides, under him to catch at his nipples, he pulled down his arms to rise up on elbows attempting to push himself onto all fours. Swiftly a hand moved to between his shoulder blades insisting he remain. Turning his head to look pleadingly at Toby, the hand slid up to hold the base of his skull as Beecher leaned into give him a gentle kiss to his lips. Pushing forwards, wanting that mouth, he twisted to gain access but found himself pushed onto his side to be kissed deep but also that Toby kept his head almost still conscious of harming his skin.

Drawing back, Beecher sat on his heels looking at Miguel's eyes glinting in the low lighting. He had to be certain, had to give him one last chance to stop this before he himself could not. "Are you sure you want this?" his voice unsteady as his body was screaming, 'just do it'.

Miguel grabbed at him, pulling him forwards for an urgent kiss, demanding, trying to pull him on top of himself. He resisted, wouldn't be manoeuvred, pushing the man back as he tried to come to him. Miguel didn't appear to want to comply with his plan for this to be gentle but Beecher wanted him there, not on the floor or against the wall as if they were just fucking. Rutting. Not this time.

Yes, he'd thought to let the other lead the way but something about Miguel's actions spoke of desperation as if just trying to prove that he would indeed let him do anything. Toby wanted to, not actually make love to him, he didn't feel that strongly about the man, but he didn't want to just fuck him either, so pushing Miguel back further against the Plexi, he climbed onto the narrow bunk, lying out full length against him, pushing a leg in between the other's, facing him.

Alvarez immediately allowed access and brought his leg up high onto Toby's hip, moving in towards him, clutching him close and once again tried to pull him on top of himself. Beecher pushed at the jeans already loose around his thighs and grabbed one of those so tight butt cheeks. Miguel's face was buried in his neck, kissing and nipping, trying to encourage him on, on top of him. He seemed so desperate.

Beecher had to slow this down before he got caught up in the urgency as he could easily hurt the man in his ardour. He escaped from the embrace, heard a wretched small, "no," so he kissed his way down his chest, stomach, as he pushed the leg off him and backed off the bunk to kneel on the floor once more. Sitting back, he ran his eyes all along the panting body.

Miguel seemed close to tears, following him. Smiling, he pushed him flat on his back and, ignoring the hands reaching for him, grasped hold of the jeans and pulled them off the compliant legs, dropping them to the floor. Running a hand up the closest leg, he enjoyed the shape of taut muscle, the actions of the man lying stretched out on his back gasping, his whole body moving with the effort of taking in air.

Alvarez had been so scared for the moment that Beecher was leaving him because he'd done something wrong in his urgency but as his pants were removed, he knew he was not to be denied this time. And now he was above him, kneeling either side, leaning down to kiss him. He wrapped his hands over the man's shoulders pulling him down but Tobias moved backwards, tasting him, his jaw, his neck, across his shoulders and down to the centre of his chest.

His left nipple was caught between lips, pulled and, as he felt the moist tongue licking, circling, he threw his hands over his head and reared up from the mattress, pushing his chest into that mouth ravishing his tight hard nipple. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten what this could feel like and the whiskers added a thrill he'd never known as they caught his tenderised flesh. Fingers to his lips, closing his mouth as he'd begun to moan so loud but he couldn't keep it closed, not now that the hungry mouth moved itself across to give attention to his previously neglected nipple. He forced his lips apart, the fingers immediately entering his mouth and he loved them, bringing his own hand down to hold them, preventing possible escape.

Beecher's other hand had worked its way down his side to lie on his hip, thumb caressing where leg met body. Against resistance, Beecher managed to pull his hand away from that hot mouth and moving backwards, used both hands to push Miguel's hips down hard to the bunk. Kneeling back, trapping the man's legs under him, he determined that this time he was going to take Miguel into his mouth if he wanted him to or not. As he ducked to rub his beard along the highly attentive prick, sliding down preparing to take him in, Miguel struggled to sit up, pushing his head away.

Half expecting this, he reared up, his hands, his weight still pushing down Miguel's' hips and putting his mouth close to the panicking man's ear, asked him, "Why do you not want this?"

"It's not right," small desperate voice as Alvarez fought his mind against his body, "My place, not yours."

"Why?" He wasn't in any frame of mind to cope with the misguided ideas.

Alvarez sobbed dryly. Shit, he was so turned on, couldn't wait to have Beecher truly on him, in him, but he was waiting for an answer. Positions reversed, he knew he wouldn't have half of the man's control. "I d..on't deserve it," he didn't know how to explain, make him understand, didn't understand himself really. He was so mixed up. He longed for the feel of the man's mouth around his cock but he was the submissive one and in his mind there was a very distinctive role. He'd been taught it, had learnt the lesson hard, and this was its reverse.

Enough of this crap! Beecher kissed him hard, forcing his tongue in to fuck at his mouth and felt the responding pressure against him, strength for strength. Letting go of the man's hips, he forced the slighter but still powerful frame back down, breaking the kiss and told him in no uncertain terms, "But its what _I_ want!" then reworked his way down the centre of the tensing body, hands following down the sides.

So Alvarez gave up all resistance. He became that total submissive lying there, after all its what Beecher desired that counted not him. As he felt the hand pressing down on his belly, the soft moist warmth surround the swollen head of his prick and a lick across his weeping slit, he arched up as much as his confined legs would let him and experienced the others man's will.

==000==

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Toby shifted, forcing Miguel's legs apart, climbing between but never giving up his capture of his cock. Alvarez pulled his knees up wide; he couldn't believe the sensations that Toby was causing. He knew all the right places, all the right actions to bring him to these heights, working on him, knowing exactly what felt best in a way only a man could, knowing exactly how it feels. Each time he thought he would lose it, the fingers, the mouth would change, prolonging him just a little longer.

Biting down on a fisted hand to stop himself calling out, he dared to put a hand on Beecher's head, massaging with his fingers in the soft hair, urging him to please let him come.

Rolling the balls within their sack with gentle fingers, Beecher took him in deep once, twice more then, pulling back slightly, finally allowed Alvarez to spill, shuddering onto his tongue. A little more fingering, a final pass up and back and Miguel jerked out his last to lie heaving, mumbling something in Spanish that he could not decipher.

Wiping his mouth, he moved up, kneeling on all fours to gaze down into Miguel's face. He'd thrown his head back with eyes tightly shut. He watched as the man shuddered a couple of times then relaxed with his face becoming calm, peaceful. Returning, he opened his eyes to see Toby grinning down at him. He couldn't smile in return, he felt too much. Placing his hands on Toby's face, he pulled him down for the deepest kiss he ever remembered.

Beecher stretched out, sinking onto the now pliant body. He gave Miguel time to recover but his flooded, impatient prick didn't want to wait any longer. Pressing in beside the other's, his hips moved almost independent of his will, pushing down onto the man. Miguel's gently caressing hands gained strength and began pulling at his shirt, pushing down his boxers.

He could feel Beecher so hard, pressing onto him under the smothering weight. Again he pulled his knees up, breaking the kiss, trying to rid the man of his clothes. He wanted to have his skin against his own, wanted that prick, so big against him, inside. He didn't want to wait a moment longer. "Beecher.. Por favor," panted into the man's ear.

Beecher raised himself up on taut arms looking down, stilling his movements, his breathing laboured, "no.." small and raged from a anguished face beneath him.

What the Hell? Beecher didn't think he could stop now. He had the impulse to ignore the whimper and just keep him pinned down and force his way inside. But he wouldn't. He remembered all to well and couldn't do that to anyone and especially not this man, looking so tortured under him. His forehead dropped onto Miguel's shoulder and, finding it damned difficult, began to move back off from him.

What the hell was he doing? Beecher was leaving him. Why? What had he done wrong? He grabbed for him, tightening his legs quickly crossed over the man's butt hard. He wouldn't let him go, he had to stop him from leaving.

'Make your fucking mind up', Beecher wanted to scream at him. Pulling at him, at his clothes then begging him 'no' and now holding on so tightly and then Alvarez did beg, "Perdóname, lo siento..quiero dentro," sorry for whatever it was he'd done wrong now. Kissing him, his neck, cheek, chin, wherever he could reach. "Please. I'm sorry. Please ,don't stop. Beecher. Please...Fuck me?.. Please."

He fought to get hold of Miguel's arms and through the stream of words did manage to pin the frantically wriggling man down, forcing his arms high above his head. Through clenched teeth and all his body was demanding of him, looking into those wide panicked beautiful eyes, he stated, "That.. Is ..What.. I am.. Trying ..To do!" and gave him a punishing kiss before prising the legs of him and pulling back to kneel between them. He stared into those dark eyes of the prone man, pushing him back down, a hand on his breastbone as he tried to sit up.

Miguel remained still after the push, the look on Beecher's face deterring him from moving again as he watched him strip off his T-shirt and almost jumped at the hand on his tense belly as he leant over to search at the side of the bunk. He was mesmerised as he watched Beecher retrieve a tube he must have left ready and he bit down on his bottom lip. He was feeling scared but that good kind when your belly flipped. He was anxious but excited as Beecher forced the top off. He noticed it a new tube of lube and wondered if he'd had it long or got it waiting for him?

His idle thoughts fled as, kneeling up, still looking at him, Beecher pushed down his underwear and Miguel couldn't take his eyes off the man's prick. He was relieved, it was not as big as it had felt against his belly, as he'd imagined, for he'd had a thought that, when finally inside of him, it would rip him apart. He knew, he'd handled it before the previous night, but that had all been a glorious blur. His mind ran so many speculations as he tried to stem the panic he was beginning to feel as he felt a gelled finger rubbing at his asshole. This was going to hurt. The memory of Lopersti had intensified in his brain but this was what Beecher wanted so he wanted it too.

He had to sit up and held onto Beecher as foreheads together they both looked down. Supporting himself on one arm, he clutched at Beecher's neck as he felt the first intrusion as he carefully pushed his finger in, waited until Miguel relaxed, surprising him, then pushed further. Miguel let out an astonished sigh as Beecher moved him back down to the bunk and pushed all the way in in one movement. He tensed up, hips rising. He'd been fucked often enough in those couple of weeks in solitary to know what to expect but this was already so different. Beecher's other hand was at his mouth playing with his lips in that way he seemed to love touching him, waiting as his muscles began to relax.

Miguel had worried that he would freak out, but no. He wanted this. He wanted more. He rose on one elbow, his other hand grasping at Beecher's face as the man began to slowly fuck him with the finger, stretching him, preparing him. The movement was driving him mad. He found himself pushing down with his butt onto that finger then rising off the bunk, hand now clutching at Beecher's shoulder as another finger swiftly entered the dance. Toby kissed him, knocked the arm away and with a final push with his fingers also pushed him back down to the mattress yet again.

Miguel's back arched and he let out a groan as the fingers, stretching wide, left him pulling out so slowly, but Beecher moved to cover him and he felt the prick pushing at his rim. He reached around the man to hide his face in a shoulder so the other wouldn't see his fear as he felt the head burst through the ring of muscle and enter him.

He gasped out against his skin as Beecher pushed forwards slightly then waited a moment for the relaxing that would allow entry. It didn't take long and Miguel threw back his head and shoulders as he felt Beecher fill him to what he prayed was his limit. It hurt. He felt burnt and he hoped desperately the sensation would subside. It would slightly, he remembered and why else was this so popular in here with those that didn't consider themselves to be gay or fags, just like he didn't?

He knew, he was a man, he knew how a dick could lead you, wanting to be surrounded by tight moist heat but he was on the receiving end once more. He also knew he would put up with anything if Toby could take pleasure from it and from the sounds the man was making close to his ear, he knew he was.

Beecher had stilled, the only movement he made was to run a hand down Miguel's side, his thigh and pulled the tense leg up and across his butt. With relief Miguel felt the burning receding and wrapped his legs high across Beecher's lower back as the hand on his thigh was urging him to do. He let out a sigh as the movement lessened the pressure inside of him. He also loosened the rigid hold on Beecher's shoulder, placed a hand at the man's nape and rubbed his cheek along the bearded one.

Beecher could not contain himself any longer and, feeling Miguel relax around him, shifted, pulling out a short way, rested his weight more on his elbows, looking down into wide brown eyes, breathing into that open mouth as he pushed finally up to his full length. Alvarez eyes widened even more as he dragged in a breath, head going back, hands spreading across Beecher's back.

He set a slow steady rhythm until Miguel began to clutch at him, once more pulling him with legs like limpets, hinting he wanted him to go faster. His eyes had closed and he was biting at that succulent bottom lip. He needed no more urging, no more permission and, relaxing his arms, it was his turn to bury face in neck as, grabbing at the short dark hair, he quickened his pace.

Miguel couldn't believe what he was feeling. What he'd thought of as a burning had not only lessened slightly but this time, with Beecher, had turned into a wonderful friction that didn't hurt him. Every time Toby pushed forwards into him he seemed to hit a spot that was sending waves of sensation through his body and the man's weight on him was wonderful. Beecher's belly kept pushing onto his own prick, which was now as hard as he could ever remember. He could tell from the man's breathing on his neck, the head rubbing against his cheek that he was taking pleasure in him and really that's all that counted, the fact that he too was enjoying this was just an added bonus. A wonderful one. Maybe finally he'd done something right.

Beecher couldn't continue much longer. He'd had to wait too long and was amazed he hadn't already lost it. He could feel Miguel's prick hard in his belly and forcing a hand between their bodies, grabbed hold firmly, determined they should both come. Alvarez practically sobbed at the extra contact and, slowing his movements to long slow thrusts, worked his hand along his shaft. Having twisted slightly, Beecher was forced to move his mouth from over the rapid pulse he'd been savouring and, weight on bent arm, tried to rise up to look at the other man's face but Miguel would not let him.

Still clutching on tightly, he came up too, gasping out as he shuddered as his prick jerked and Beecher felt his cum warm between then on his stomach. One more retreat, almost leaving the clenching tightness holding him, and he plunged forwards, going rigid to release deep inside the panting man. One more shallow push and he collapsed upon the slowly relaxing body under him, dragging his hand out.

Beecher had become a dead weight pinning him down, breathing heavily as if in relief on his shoulder. Alvarez felt confined and trapped but for once he didn't feel claustrophobic, instead he felt exhausted but at peace. He slowly dribbled his fingertips across the slick back, his legs now loosely resting folded across the man. The feel of Toby's breathing, his chest swelling and relaxing against him and their breaths echoing each other in a steady tempo and he felt, content.

He smiled for himself. Beecher appeared to return from another place and began to ease out of him, "No. Don't leave me." A plea.

Beecher dragged himself up onto elbows and quickly kissed him on that bottom lip, "I have.. to," he gasped out and Miguel sobbed once at the loss. Beecher pushed off the legs surrounding him, rolled onto his side on the narrow bunk bringing Miguel with him, lying full out facing him. He put fingertips to Miguel's open lips, smiling as he was stared at. The expression was like he was waiting for approval. He had it, no doubt about that. He replaced the fingers with his mouth and Alvarez received possibly the most validating kiss he'd ever had.

Still in the kiss, Beecher forced a leg between Miguel's and, grabbing onto that gloriously tight backside, he rolled them over. The kiss ending, Miguel pushed himself up to look down in amazement at the man who'd made him feel so wonderful. Beecher reached up to place two fingers in that open mouth. He could play with those lips for hours. Miguel's eyes closed along with his mouth around those fingers as Beecher raised and bent his leg, the one between Miguel's and it forced him forwards onto the searching digits. Beecher watched fascinated as Miguel's whole concentration was on making love to his fingers. He had to stop this soon as he felt himself stirring again. They'd risked so much already, it could only be a matter of time before torchlight found them if they continued.

From experience he knew he was going to have trouble getting his fingers back without opposition, so reaching with his other hand, he forced Miguel's mouth open with finger and thumb while pulling his others out. Alvarez' eyes shot open, brief resentment flashing only to surrender as Toby's' hand moved around his head to pull him forwards for one more kiss.

Miguel was uncertain, he wanted to collapse onto the man, to rest his whole weight on him but should he? He felt a hand on his back pulling him down so he guessed he had his answer. Relaxing down, he fell into the kiss and ending, he slid down to lie in a tangle of legs, his hands cupping Beecher's shoulders. Head on his chest, he listened to his breathing and settled down in his safe place as arms loosely enfolded him.

Toby idly played with the hair on the back of Miguel's head. A minute more and they would have to part. He gently shook the head but the younger man just snuggled down, lips parted, breath warm on his skin. He was going to sleep! "Miguel," shaking him, "I have to get up," the hands tightened on his shoulders.

Alvarez didn't want to leave this place, would risk everything to stay like this. "Let me wake up here?"

It pulled at Beecher's heart. If only they could. "You know we can't. Now get up." Miguel sighed so deeply then clutched him even harder as he moved backwards dragging his lips down Beecher's stomach, kissing tasting, then back up to lick at a nipple. Anything to stop the man from leaving him.

Moaning, he pushed Miguel off him and slid out from beneath. Sitting on the edge, he twisted to look at him. Oh, that expression again, lost, looking to him. He reached forwards and was met half way and, cradling the man in his arms, kissed him, hoping to convey that he didn't want to leave him, that he had no choice and he would always be here for him.

Releasing his mouth, he gently lay Miguel down and watched as he relaxed, licking his lips as Beecher ran the back of his hand down his cheek and then smiled up at him. Returning the smile he knelt by the bunk pulled the rucked blanket off and covered him with it.

As Beecher leant forwards and gave him a last quick kiss, Miguel snuggled down. He felt wonderful, if a bit like a child being tucked in for the night and as Beecher stood, turned and nearly fell, couldn't help but laugh.

Catching himself on the sink cursing, he stepped out of the boxers that had tangled around his legs and ruefully said, "It's not funny, man" as Miguel practically giggled. He smiled, payback for laughing at the man's concern over his sore face. Turning he wet a flannel and cleaned himself. Dressing in his discarded boxers and shirt retrieved from the floor, he re-wet the flannel and knelt once more by Miguel, lifting the blanket and wiped his stomach making him laugh and flinch, "S'cold"

A sharp rapping on the Plexi. "Move away now. Don't even think about it!" Beecher sprang back empty handed. He glanced at Alvarez who buried his face moaning. "Your own bunk now!" There was no arguing so, in resignation, Beecher climbed into the top bunk. The light seemed to stay an eternity before moving off with an, "I'll be watching you."

Beecher blew out his breath in relief. That had been close. Then he felt like laughing and he did, at the Hack having missed them.

Miguel had felt despair crashing over him that such a wonderful night was going to finish in the 'Hole' or worse, back in isolation. Next time he would obey Beecher. He should have this time but lying on top of the man, he'd just wanted to stay there forever. It would have been his fault if they'd been caught and it had been so close.

"Beecher?"

Tobias wondered if every time they had sex it would be followed by a question. He rolled onto his front, "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

Damn, he thought this is the kind of post-coiltal talk he could do without. But knowing the Alvarez that Miguel had shown him, he guessed he needed a great deal of reassurance, and from him. He set his tone light, "What the Hell for?"

Miguel now wished he hadn't spoken.

"And don't bite your nails." The thumb shot from his mouth. Silence. "Miguel, are you alright?"

No, he wasn't. He'd ruined everything. He shouldn't have spoken. Beecher was about to lean over the edge when the light invaded again. "Go away. Go the fuck away," small plaintive from the lower bunk

"You know what to do. Just keep still," equally low, hiding his mouth from The Hack. It left them once more.

"It's my fault. I'm sorry."

"What is?" as he checked that the Hack had indeed gone, then leant over to look at the disturbed man.

Miguel knew he was being watched but couldn't return the gaze. "That...that we nearly got caught. I shoulda listened to you."

Beecher was so tired he had to fight to concentrate, to reassure. "But we didn't and it wouldn't have been your fault anymore than mine if we had. Okay?"

"Yeah.. but..." then nothing.

"But what Miguel?" He lay back down, it wasn't as if Alvarez was actually looking at him anyway.

But this is what Miguel really wanted to find out, what he needed to know, "But next time, I will listen to you...if.." he couldn't finish.

Beecher smiled, "If..?" he hazarded, "there is a next time?"

A sigh, "Si," quavering.

Beecher laughed again, "Only if I have anything to do with it!"

Movement on the bottom bunk. Toby once more leant over the side. Yes, he'd thought so. Alvarez had curled on his side with that slight smile to his lips. He laid back and, also smiling to himself gave up the battle to keep his eyes open.

It was so low he was not sure he was supposed to hear. He had a pretty good idea what it meant but wasn't a hundred percent. "Te quiero, Tobias." So he'd finally managed to say his first name. Wondering if he would ever have it spoken to his face, Toby fell asleep.

Minutes later as the torchlight checked them once more, neither was conscious to notice.

==000==

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

Alvarez awoke as the lights came on. Used to waking at the slightest thing, he'd slept soundly since he'd dared to speak his heart. He half hoped that Toby hadn't heard him. He'd not really intended him too, for once he'd quietly uttered the words, he knew it a mistake. Not that he hadn't meant it but shouldn't have admitted it, not so soon and now he wasn't so sure.

He cared deeply about Beecher, was definitely infatuated but his emotions were so mixed up with gratitude and a desperate longing to feel the man's sheltering strength. He knew Toby did care for him a little but realistically couldn't fool himself into thinking he cared greatly. He was not that lucky.

Getting up, swinging his legs around he sat and scrubbed at his face. He was definitely going to shave this morning. His foot touched the cold flannel he'd pushed away and, on bending down to retrieve it, realised how much he ached with a slight soreness in his ass. He smiled. How different it was to when he used to wake after Lopresti. Beecher had done something that man never had. He'd given his body time to accept him, did not, apparently, wish to hurt him.

Standing, stretching, he turned to look at the still sleeping man and smiled once more. It felt good just to smile again. He took the opportunity to use the toilet and clean himself up before moving to gently shake Toby awake for the second morning.

Beecher shocked out of a deep sleep and had Miguel's wrist in a tight grip before he really looked at him. When he focused and saw who it was, he saw an Alvarez who stood frozen, a smile leaving his lips.

And for the second morning running Alvarez thought Beecher couldn't stand to look at him.

Beecher relaxed his grip and his expression, pulling Miguel's hand to his lips, kissing his fingertips. He saw that glorious shy ducking of head and the smile returned. He hopped quickly, but not so easily, off the bunk and got ready for 'Count'.

Hearing the pneumatic hiss and the call, on leaving the Pod, Beecher spoke over his shoulder to the motionless man who had just stood and watched him, "You might want to put some clothes on." A couple of choice swearwords, a scramble and a bare footed and jeaned Alvarez joined him in the line.

Later, a clean shaven Alvarez, bored with the TV, went back into Beecher's Pod. He cast around wondering what he could do with himself and noticed the paperback on Toby's footlocker. Nervously he picked it up. If it had been inside he wouldn't have dared, but then again, probably wouldn't have thought about reading it.

Standing, his butt aching from sitting near all morning and other reasons, he leant on the top bunk and studied the book. A penguin classic he'd never heard of. From the back he couldn't really make out what it was about but decided to give it ago anyway. Opening it, he missed all the stuff at the front full of references and quotes, and began at the start of the story.

Fidgeting after five minutes and having to reread the last line four times he gave up feeling his forehead ache where it had tensed in concentration. He threw the book away hard in frustration then quickly went to retrieve it, smoothing down the creased cover. Fuck. Checking, at least it was a library book and not Beecher's own. He replaced it on the locker, but why call it that, he wondered? It's not as if they were allowed to lock them or anything.

So what now? What he needed was to talk with O'Riely but he'd be in the kitchen. He looked at the book again. It was just too difficult for him. He should start with something a bit easier so decided to head out to the library.

It had been at least a year if not longer since he'd been in here and Mrs, whatever her name was, didn't appear to have moved. There were only a couple of prisoners in there who he didn't know so no one to wonder what Alvarez was doing there completely out of character. He idly wondered around the shelves totally at a loss.

Passing the remedial section, he started fingering the novels next to the classics figuring something in between he should be able to cope with. Crouching down, reading the titles, he kept picking one then, changing his mind put it back and suddenly felt claustrophobic.

Looking up he saw black clad legs. Standing, backing off he crashed into a body which immediately held him fast. He stood frozen in horror, consciously not showing it as Shillinger took the book from his hand, glanced at it and laughing threw it on the table. "Here," he said backing up a bit and selecting a book from the next shelves, "This should suit you more," and held up a Doctor Zeus.

"Why? That your favourite?" and the book was rammed into his stomach. Bending over as his breath was knocked from him he was bucked from behind, "Oooh. I didn't know you cared."

"Careful, Robson," Shillinger replied to the man, "I'm sure he's already a little sore. Huh, lover boy?"

Regaining his breath, he tried to pull away from Robson's hands gripping his upper arms. All his struggling against the much heavier man earned him an, "Oh, don't stop. You're making me hard."

"Get your fucking hands off me!" looking around desperately. The place had emptied save for the librarian who had made a career choice to see nothing. Where were the Fuckin' Hacks?

"Looks like you hit a nerve." Shillinger leant in to look at his evasive face. "Beech ball been treating you right?"

He cursed at him again. Saw Shillinger smile. Shit. They hadn't known. Had just been looking for a rise and he'd given it to them. "Maybe we should send your 'hubby' a message?"

"How about carving a big wet kiss in his stomach?" came from behind as he was pulled back tighter. He fought to break the hold afresh. Shillinger lifted up his top disdainfully between finger and thumb. "What here?" and punched him hard. That floored him as Robson let go. "Com'on lets get lunch" and he stepped over the tightly curled Alvarez.

"Yeah," agreed Robson looking down, "But I gotta wash my hands. Feel all greasy," and laughing, they left.

By the time he managed to pull himself up off the floor by the table, a Hack was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Standing unsteadily, Alvarez looked at him but all the light haired man did was smile and wink at him.

Rubbing his stomach, murder in his heart, he quickly left. He really needed to speak with O'Riely.

=0=

Ryan O'Riely quickly entered the Pod. "What the fuck happened?" pointing to the wet flannel Alvarez was holding to his stomach in much less pleasanter circumstances than the last time.

"We've got to do it now!" After making sure in the queue that Ryan knew they needed to talk, he'd managed to ignore the taunting kissing noises from Robson, the fluttering eyes of that Bastard Shillinger as, knuckles white, holding his tray, he pretended they didn't exist. He'd nearly lost it on the "What ya havin'? Green eggs 'n' ham?" but catching the concerned inquiring face of Beecher, he kept his anger in check and carried on.

Beecher had caught the wince as he sat but remained silent. He hadn't missed the 'you will' explain later look though. Bruises were appearing on his arms and how the hell was he going to explain that away? He had to keep Toby out of this or he could well do something heroic and stupid if he knew those freaks had touched his Miguel.

"Shillinger," he turned to look at the Irishman, "I think he's gonna try 'n' hurt Beecher through me. Can't allow that!"

Whatever, Ryan thought, that Beecher was doing or the threat from the Aryans, he approved. This was an Alvarez much more to his liking. Much more useful. "Its gonna be hard gettin' him..." Alvarez' eyes hardened, "gettin' both Shillinger and Robson," he amended, "alone or together. They're always surrounded."

"You backing out on me?" a challenge in his voice.

Ryan was tempted but then turned to look at Cyril hanging about on the other side of the door. He'd always wanted to get the Bastards back but hadn't found an opportunity yet. Maybe this was his best chance as Alvarez appeared set. He gave him an enquiring expression, "What you planning?"

"I've noticed the way Robson keeps looking at me. Think I could get him alone somewhere. Shake my ass a bit."

Ryan was puzzled, "But, Hermano. You're not his type."

That had been puzzling him too, but what of the looks he had been getting, which made him want to shower, these last days since he had been around Beecher in fact? He'd thought at first it had been curiosity, just that he was, in fact, around Beecher but in the library he was sure he'd felt an interest pressing against him. He'd put that down to imagination, after all, he'd had plenty else to think about at the time, like if he was going to live through the next couple of seconds. Also, they were well known for their taste in pale, white flesh. But the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced.

"That's way I think I can get him alone. Out of Shillinger's sight." He shrugged, wincing as his stomach tugged. "Maybe its just cause he knows I belong to Beecher." Ryan already knew so why deny it.

"Belong!" O'Riely shot aghast, "Oh, Amante!" then seeing the look got back on subject, "Then what? We shank him?"

Alvarez laughed, an evil glint, Ryan was pleased to see, showing in his eyes, "I was thinkin' more of cuttin' off the rest of his dick, lettin' the bastard bleed to death."

"Oh I like it! But that smacks of revenge" he thought of Cyril, "and we gotta be careful."

Alvarez looked deflated as he re-wet the flannel and gingerly placed it back on his belly.

"You should go to the hospital ward."

"Thought you didn't want it to look like revenge? So far you're the only one not there who knows."

"Just who was there?" One day his curiosity was going to be his undoing, "Anyone not involved?"

"Only 'sees nothing bitch'," he said disgustedly and Ryan scoffed, "and a Hack"

"Fuck!" He was thinking furiously, Alvarez could practically see the cogs spinning in his head. "We're going to have to take Shillinger out first. Pity you never got your orderly job back." It was as if a light bulb had lit up his face.

"Why?" Alvarez was intrigued.

"We need a narrow syringe and, if I'm handling it, I want a clean one. Who can we use?"

Alvarez looked out of the Pod and saw a figure walking swiftly across the quad. "Leave that to me. I can have it by lunch tomorrow. What then?"

Ryan got up from the bunk where he'd done his thinking, "I'll tell you tomorrow. Couple of things need thinking through," and he turned to leave.

"O'Riely?" the man turned back, "Could... could I have some of that money? Just a bit?" he was feeling sheepish, like a kid asking for extra pocket money.

"Can't you get the syringe without paying?"

"No. Yes! I want to get...needa..." Shit this was awkward, "Just give me some fuckin' money, man!"

"Why not ask lover boy? He's got plenty... Okay, Okay. Your so 'tetchy' lately," laughing at the look he received and handed over twenty dollars, "Enough?" Alvarez took it nodding. Ryan caught the glance to his arms and leaving just had to, "Make sure its pretty," then left the Pod quickly pretending to duck a missile.

Fuck, the man was insufferable and one day, Alvarez vowed, one day when he was no longer useful…

==000==

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

After visiting the shop and dressed in a new sweatshirt, navy blue just for a 'change', he doubted the sleeves would last much past the bruises, he collapsed, then sprawled on the chair next to Brusmalis. Startled the man asked, "What d'you want?" Rebadow, the only other occupant of the table was equally worried. Neither were thrilled that Toby had brought the Latino into their 'family'.

Alvarez leant towards him slightly, hand protectively on his stomach trying to ignore the pain. "For you to bring me sumthin' from the hospital tomorrow at lunch."

"And why should I?" the elder man moved away slightly.

Alvarez yawned grandly, "Sorry, don't get much sleep at night anymore." A total lie as he was sleeping a great deal better since being with Beecher, from their nocturnal exercises or due to feeling safe, he didn't know.

"Maybe you should sleep alone then," commented Rebadow with a distinctly disproving expression. After all his bunk was only a sheet of Plexiglas away and he'd thought Tobias had come to his senses.

Alvarez just shrugged, "Surprised you can hear anything over that, scratching," He leant in more to Brusmalis, "That digging!" his voice rising slightly.

"Okay," shushing him."What do you want?"

He smiled sweetly and told him.

=0=

"You ready to tell me what's going on yet?" Beecher was sat cross-legged on his bunk, book in hand.

The man was always reading thought Alvarez. He didn't know that Toby had only gotten the book since he'd moved in. He didn't talk much and Tobias had found himself constantly wanting to touch the man so he'd got it mainly to keep his hands still. Whenever he caught Miguel watching him, thinking himself unobserved, with that look in his eye, Beecher wanted to throw him down and fuck him.

He was finding it difficult to control the impulses the dark eyed looks were causing. It didn't sit well. He couldn't come to terms with this new side of himself which he'd previously thought impossible. He had to distract himself as he couldn't give in and become like that, so he'd turned to the old favourite. He'd briefly wondered what had happened to it but the Latino was nervous enough without being quizzed on the damage. He did need to know about his involvement with O'Riely though as he didn't like it. It boded no good.

"Nada," was all Alvarez replied, staying close to the window. He stared out knowing if he looked at Toby he would go to him, tell him all. He had to keep the man out of it. Keep him safe.

"So, nothings going on. Then you haven't been avoiding me since lunch? You haven't been off plotting with Ryan O'Riely?" Miguel's head was dropping, shoulders slumping, his whole stance dejection. Beecher continued, "There's nothing wrong with your stomach. No reason you've suddenly changed your fashion sense and no need for our neighbours to believe you intend to kill me?"

Alvarez shot around, disbelief and anguish on his face. "¡¿Qué?, No. No, Nunca que lastimaría. Te quiero!Te quiero," and went silent, shocked. The thought that he could ever 'hurt' Beecher was painful to him.

Beecher frowned. Obviously whenever he got passionate about something, Miguel would revert to Spanish, forgetting Beecher had said he didn't understand much. He had gotten the 'what' a 'me?' and he thought that word love again but really was lost. "Ur huh! Didn't catch that." Alvarez looked like he was going to cry, hugged himself, winced and let go. 'If he drops to the floor, I'll hit him', thought Beecher exasperated. Instead, grasping the book in tense hands, he went back to reading. He was done with playing psychiatrist.

Miguel thought he was going to pass out. His stomach hurt but so did his head. His eyes felt like they were on fire and he wanted to throw up. And Beecher had just gone back to that fuckin book! He dared to study the man. So calm but no, his eyes weren't moving and he could hear though the pounding of his pulse the book being twisted. He was pretending and angry and waiting. Oh Fuck!

If only he could tell him, but he had to keep him out of it. Protect him. Ironic, but he had to protect Beecher, keep him clear of what he was doing. He had to get rid of Shillinger and Robson with no hint of Tobias Beecher. That's the only reason neither had recently directly attacked each other.

With all the history, the survivor would no doubt land straight on Death Row, no argument. Yes, there had been attacks he'd heard about but always opportunistic when others were involved. And of course the torture through children. It had to come to an end and he had to do it, as Beecher could not.

Thinking on his plans, he calmed down a bit, the pounding gone but still watching the quietly seething man, he knew he had to appease him. Throw himself at the man's feet if necessary and apologise. This was a nightmare.

Beecher was more than angry, he was livid. Mainly at himself. He obviously didn't trust Alvarez, trust that he could look after himself but then he had reason not to. But mainly he was angry, because either Miguel didn't trust him as much as he'd thought or, and this really stuck in his craw, Miguel didn't need him.

A plucking at his pants leg brought him back from self-examination. Miguel was leaning cross-armed on the bunk before him, head down tentatively pulling at him. He placed the book aside and stretching, used a finger under the man's chin to lift up his head. Tears scared his cheeks from down cast eyes and Beecher's anger fled as his heart melted all over again. He wiped the tears away and his thumb found its way onto those lips again.

Miguel sagged, looking up at him and started to say, "I'm sorry" until he stopped him by pushing at his lips. That fucking banging on the glass and Miguel stepped back. Toby turned to look daggers at the Hack. Shit the same bastard as the night before. "I'll be watching you!" the man announced and moved off.

"Miguel, sit." Alvarez began to sink to the footlocker. "No, here," patting the bunk beside him. Miguel glanced out of the window then questioningly at Beecher. "It'll be alright. Just don't sit too close."

He moved to obey. Trying to hop up, he had to stop and slowly managed to climb up, collapsing back against the Plexi, legs swinging off the edge. "Now tell me there's nothing wrong with your stomach," Beecher commanded.

Miguel's fingers picked at each other as he watched. "Got hit," he admitted in a small voice.

Beecher folded his arms, "By whom?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Someone hurt you and it doesn't matter?"

"I'll deal."

"And I can't help?" Miguel looked like he would cry again. Just what the hell was happening? "But O'Riely can?"

Left hand covering his eyes, his right hand clutched at Beecher's top beside him. Obviously he wasn't going to get an honest answer, if any, so resigned, Toby picked up the book and holding it in his right hand tried to ignore the hand at his hip. Well, not the hand, but the tugging as it tugged at something inside him.

It wasn't until he felt Miguel slumping against his shoulder that he realised he'd been holding that hand at his hip, fingers entwined. He glanced through the glass then turned to look at Miguel. Eyes closed, he seemed much calmer, head resting on his shoulder. He quietly dropped the book and reached over to run fingertips down his face.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you. But I just can't," Miguel told him sadly.

"Then tell me this, will you be careful? I don't want anything to happen to you." Oh, those eyes as he looked up at him, so full of yearning that he longed to fill. Beecher covered his cheek and pulled his head down to nestle against his collarbone. Thumb rubbing on the cheekbone, fingers playing in his hair, Beecher settled back far from content but there was no point in pushing further.

That dreaded banging and the Bastard was back. "That's it! If I see you two within four foot of each other, you're going to the 'Hole'. Now move!"

It was Beecher who jumped down as Miguel just curled up, eyes never leaving him. He leant back against the sink and stared the Hack down. Why did he have to be such a Bastard? Why did he have to shout so loud? He could see others looking out at the commotion. Fucking Bastard! Finally the Hack moved away.

"You know, don't you, that he's not going to leave us alone tonight?"

Alvarez buried his face. In a way he was quite relieved. His stomach did hurt like hell, he was pretty sure he hadn't been damaged inside, time would tell, but he was bruised and his arse was still a bit sore but none of that would have counted if Beecher still wanted to have him. But could he manage to go the whole night without feeling those hands on him? The thought of those sheltering arms was all that had kept him going since managing to get up off the library floor. He supposed he would just have to.

'Lights Out' and Beecher got ready to turn in. Miguel hadn't moved and he didn't have the heart to make him and he supposed one night on the bottom bunk wouldn't kill him. Giving a quick check, he moved to the bunks and ran a hand over Miguel's head, clasped his shoulder then climbed into the lower bunk.

Miguel knew he should move but couldn't summon up the will, staying motionless, listening to Toby's breathing.

Beecher spent at least the next hour fidgeting. He felt confined, more so than usual, and it seemed every time he was drifting off the Pod lit up. He thought Alvarez must still be awake as he could hear him biting his nails again but, no. It was coming from beneath him.

Turning over he was met by the eyes of Bob Rebadow in the next Pod. "What's that noise?" he mouthed. Bob put his fingers to his lips then turned back to watching the door. He laughed. Not another damn tunnel?

==000==

TBC...


	14. Chapter 14

Miguel Alvarez lay curled, shivering in the centre of the filthy bleak room. He wasn't really cold but desperately praying that Toby would forgive him as he'd begged just before being dragged off him. He also prayed that Ryan knew what he was doing. He hadn't thought much of the plan. So many things could go wrong.

Ryan had tried to reassure him it would be sweet but just in case or, more importantly, if it worked, Beecher had to be far away from it and he advised that he should be absent too. And he also prayed that when he eventually got out of here, whenever that would be, he wouldn't be separated from the man he was doing all this for.

Tobias Beecher stood in the centre of his filthy room, hands clasped on head trying to figure out what the hell had happened. Just what the hell was Alvarez playing at? Whatever, he knew that this was not the end. No way was this the goal of all the plotting he'd noticed going on.

So something was to happen while he was in this shit hole. He hoped Miguel was okay, knew the man had a terror of being alone, isolated, so he must deem this worth it. The fact that he'd obviously been gotten out of the way and the 'interest' Miguel had been receiving from those Aryan shits, Beecher had an anxious foreboding. Also, just a little bit of hope. He moved to sit against a wall and thought back over the day as he'd known it.

=0=

Waking with the lights, he'd been disorientated, half expecting Alvarez to be looking at him then hitting his head as he had jumped up. Remembering why he was down here, he glanced upwards and saw the old lace-less pumps hanging over the edge. Standing, it was as if Miguel had not changed position all night. Moving to wake him he smiled at the reversal but Alvarez had already fixed eyes on him. Doing the check that was second nature now, he stroked the man's face and leant in to lightly kiss his lips as they rose to meet him.

Miguel had struggled to get down so he'd gone to help, the man practically falling into his arms. He embraced him, kissing his check before letting go.

Alvarez was trying to hide it but he was still in pain and now stiff from remaining more or less in the same position all night, finally falling asleep due to exhaustion, his mind running over the day ahead. It would have helped if O'Riely had told him all but no doubt it would have added more worry, not removed it. This had to work. A man's life was at stake. One much more important than his own.

By the time they were in the canteen, Alvarez' characteristic easy lope had returned but every so often Beecher caught the slight wince. He hoped no one else noticed but doubted anyone else was watching as closely as himself. For once they were not hassled, were not taunted but Beecher was becoming greatly concerned at the looks which were more like leers from Robson.

He'd told Miguel to stay around people and, 'for God sakes don't be alone anywhere'. The Latino had taken the admonition in silence so he already knew. Mind you, getting punched in the stomach could do that for you. It had become obvious who'd hurt Miguel and Beecher spent the morning typing by rote and deciding he had to do something permanent about Shillinger once and for all. He couldn't let Alvarez get caught up in that sick drama.

The next time he saw him, dawdling in the corridor outside the food hall, he was pleased to see him staying close to Rebadow and Brusmalis although they looked decidedly uncomfortable. Not the best protection by anyone's standards but at least he'd taken his advice. The sleeves had shrunk down to just above the elbows and he looked a bit more himself. Alvarez liked to show his arms off, proud of them, so he was definitely covering something up. No doubt bruises. It was unlikely that his stomach had been hit in a remotely fair fight.

Some sort of message passed between the man and O'Riely and Beecher's uneasiness became a raging anger as, having to pass the bane of his life, it was Alvarez who was subjected to the catcalling and whistles and for some unfathomable reason more Dr Zeus references. Miguel was doing his best to ignore them but Beecher couldn't as Robson grabbed the Latino's ass hard, fingers digging in deep between his cheeks. Turning to attack with his try he felt Miguel's body pushing him away. "Leave it Toby. Please." Then he swiftly moved off.

Beecher had slammed his try down, sitting angrily across from him. "What the Fuck do you think you're doing? You're setting yourself up as a mark for those Bastards. You can't just let that go!"

"Leave it. Please."

"No" He could still hear the laughter, "What sort of message are you sending out to all the Fucks in here if you won't stand up for yourself?"

"Leave it!" and Alvarez had eyefucked him.

Beecher was shocked silent then Miguel had acted like a child caught swearing at his Grandmother. Totally ashamed, he couldn't look at him and pressed at his waistband as if checking something was still there. Beecher noticed Brusmalis watching the action as well. So, he thought, Miguel has the syringe tucked in his jeans. Oh Fuck, and he'd turned to eating from his tray, the food dry and tasteless in his mouth.

=0=

And now he was in here. One minute still fuming, he was plonked in front of the TV, the next seeing Alvarez beckon him over to the stairs. Sighing, he slowly made his way over as if he didn't really have a destination.

Reaching Miguel he was grabbed, pushed under the stairs and Alvarez practically attacked him, kissing him desperately as if knowing this could well be the last time. And as he was pulled away from him, off him, those two emphasised words for his ears alone, "Forgive Me."

==000==

Four or possibly five days later, he wasn't certain, Beecher's clothes were thrown in at him. He was surprised as he'd expected to be in here for anything up to a month which was the norm. Dressing he caught a quick glimpse of Alvarez as he was pushed back into the room opposite. He didn't look to be too badly off and Beecher guessed he wasn't to be released after all.

Sat in an interview room, he felt dirty, scruffy and, scratching at his chin, decided that when he was to be let out of the 'Hole' it was high time to lose the beard. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you 'know nothing' as well?"

To be honest he didn't, he hadn't got a clue as to why he was even sat here faced with Glynn and McManus. He glanced up questioningly. At least it wasn't to be bad news, you still got a visit for that. Surly though he was not to be questioned over a kiss? He had an impulse to say 'Que?' but refrained, as these men did not look to be in a remotely good mood. Worse than usual in fact.

'As well?' So this was where Alvarez had been, but why let on that he'd said nothing? Maybe they were just trying to make him feel over confident, trying to trip him up? But he did, 'know nothing'. Then again he had to admit he did have a pretty good suspicion who all this involved.

Glynn was watching him intently then turning to McManus, "He does know what's happened doesn't he?"

"No. He doesn't." answered Beecher for him.

They both stared at him. "Oh come off it! We know you must be involved somehow. Even though you are 'conveniently' in the 'Hole'."

"Yeah," added McManus, "How bout that? Thought you'd learnt to be a little more circumspect?"

Beecher just shrugged.

"Tim. Maybe you should split them up if they ever get out of the 'Hole'?" He was not going to give them the rise they were looking for but both saw the slight twitch to the eyes. "Umm yes. Alvarez looked a bit upset at that too."

Beecher folded his arms loosely. Blackmail wouldn't work, especially as he was still at a loss.

"So you gonna tell us who killed Vern Shillinger?"

He looked up at that. Had McManus really said what he thought he had? He looked from one to the other, sitting up straight, hands gripping the edge of the table. Glynn and McManus exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

Leaning across the table Glynn asked, "You really didn't know did you?"

He just shook his head dumbstruck not truly believing. Disbelief was only part of it, amazement and a great sense of validation mixed with triumph. The man who had stabbed him, raped him, branded and tortured him, who had killed his child and for years made every day a waking hell was gone. He slumped in the chair scrubbing at his face then began to laugh. That hysterical manic laughter that many had learnt to be wary of.

The two men just waited for him to calm down. Wiping tears from his cheeks, Beecher sat not caring to keep the joy from his face. "Well?" asked Glynn.

"Yes. Thank you. I am."

Glynn had had enough "Officer," and as the door opened, "take him back,"

Once the prisoner had been removed, Tim took his vacated seat and looked across at the Warden. "I guess that's the happiest man in the place at the moment but then, can you really blame him? You know I think he had no idea. I think maybe he wasn't involved."

"I agree. But I'm not so sure of Alvarez. He knows something!"

"Leo you always think he knows something."

"That's because he does and the shit still won't tell me the truth!" He was convinced that Alvarez knew who had raped his daughter but the bastard was not talking, and probably never would.

Tim decided it best to steer away from the subject, "So what now?"

Glynn looked tired. "Just who and how did, whoever do it... Do it?" He raised his hands in exasperation, "Just how did the scum die?"

"You know as much as I do. Kidney failure, internal bleeding. Died in his cell during the night."

"But, Tim," pointing at him, "You know as I do," paraphrasing, "that wouldn't have happened if he'd not been poisoned!" He was silent then, "Okay, when they get out of the 'Hole', split them up."

McManus just laughed "Don't expect me to explain it to Pete." Glynn groaned. "She seems to think her plan is working."

"What? Just to give Beecher a new fuck buddy?"

"I don't know, Leo. But I think she's still carrying a lot of guilt over Beecher and" he shrugged adding, "as she said, what's the harm?" They had both been persuaded by the strong willed woman.

"Anything for a quiet life." Back to musing on the real topic in hand, "So tell me. Who's been hanging around Alvarez more than usual lately? I still think he's the key."

McManus thought a moment. "Been keeping pretty much to himself till Beecher of course. And therefore Rebadow, Brusmalis, Hill. Seen him with O'Riely a few times." Glynn raised eyes at that. Tim saw. "We've already questioned all the kitchen staff. You can guess, saw nothing, heard nothing. No way to pin it down. Don't even know how it was done. What it was in. There is one other though….." thinking as Glynn waited interested. "The only other, still alive, that I've heard paying extra attention to Alvarez is Robson, but I took it just to being his proximity to Beecher."

Glynn clasped his hands in front of his face, tapping his lips a couple of times. "No. Unless. You don't think we've got this all wrong and it's just an internal power struggle amongst the Brotherhood and Shillinger lost?"

"Could be," Tim agreed but doubted it.

"Whatever, Tim, we need to watch them closely because if its not internal, you can bet we're not the only ones that think Beecher and Alvarez have something to do with this!"

=0=

As he heard laughter advancing down the corridor to be muffled but not silenced as the door opposite slammed shut, Alvarez curled up tighter on the floor, hugging himself and smiled.

==000==

TBC...


	15. Chapter 15

In what turned out to be just under three weeks, Beecher was escorted back to Em City a couple of hours before 'Lockdown'. He was greeted with a regard he could have well done without. Everyone, conveniently ignoring the fact that he'd been in the 'Hole', decided he'd managed to orchestrate Shillinger's death. The last time he'd felt an unspoken respect like this was after he had used the man as a toilet.

O'Riely was seething. He'd done it all, well almost, and got none of the glory, the only balm on his irked pride was that the Aryans wouldn't be gunning for him. Beecher checked his Pod and amazingly nothing had been stolen. But there was something extra. A folded page from 'The Cat in the Hat' had been placed in his foot locker. It was while in the shower room, staring at his clean shaven reflection that the meaning truly hit him. The origin and implicit threat, if the relevance still eluded him.

The meeting in McManus' office had been the usual after a trip to the 'Hole'. Be a good boy, behave and all will be well. Yeah right! Murphy escorting him out had added, "I got nights this week. Keep the noise down 'n' save my feet will ya?" and with the predictable raised eyebrow, left.

There was no sign of Alvarez who, since being released, had not only had his lecture but also a visit with Sister Pete. Through both he'd just said what he thought was expected, itching to get back to Em City. To Beecher. But after his first unobserved glance at the man he'd hidden out in O'Riely's Pod.

Ostentatiously sat on the floor playing a simple card game with Cyril, he listened as Ryan crowed over the success of his plan. Well, near total. He hadn't managed to get Robson but he would only have been the icing on the cake. It appeared not to have been achieved exactly like the plan he'd told Alvarez previously but Ryan, if nothing else, could think on his feet and he always had a back up.

It was Alvarez who finally convinced him of the dangers of letting his success be known. His wounded pride had come close to over riding his caution. Alvarez also didn't want O'Riely taken out in revenge, he needed him as there was still, if not a greater, threat to Tobias.

Trying in his bid to seize control of the Aryan faction, Robson had been making sounds on that revenge. He appeared stupid enough not to realise that now, if anything did happen to Beecher, he would go down for it first. It was that arrogance that had already helped them. Or was he banking on the fact no one would believe him quite that stupid? Whatever. "We have to finish this!"

"Hermano. You've got to wait."

"Every day spent waiting is a day Beecher could get hurt!" He could not speak his greatest fear, let alone to Ryan who already knew too much.

"And if Robson dies just after you get back from the 'Hole' what then?" That silenced him. "While waiting, it's your turn to help me."

So Alvarez dealt another hand and listened.

"Count!" and Ryan had to practically push him from the Pod.

"Go on, Amante. He'll be waiting!" A slap to his butt, a hand in his face as pay back. Ryan was enjoying himself. Never content without someone to tease and someone to hurt, he went back to plotting.

"Move it, Alvarez. Faster!" Murphy. "Don't earn another stint in the 'Hole'," as he watched the man skip down the stairs and jog to Beecher's side, agilely dodging the Hack moving towards him. He shook his head.

Miguel stood panting slightly, not looking at Beecher. The pneumatic hiss following his entry, he now stood gazing at the man.

"Didn't' think you were back"

In reply, he lurched forwards, stopped, checked behind him, waited while the Hacks moved off towards the stairs and then launched himself at the man. Beecher found himself engulfed, for the first time feeling Miguel's face against his bare cheek. He pushed him off, held him at arms length by the narrow waist laughing, trying to dodge the fingers touching his bare skin, enjoying the look on the man's face. "Miguel," shaking him and still laughing, "Stop it."

Alvarez stilled, a frown clouding his happy expression. "You approve?" Tobias asked him.

A nod becoming shy, dropping his hands to Beecher's elbows. A bite to that bottom lip, eyes caste down, "Do you then?"

"Do I what?" equally softly.

Eyes flitting up then down. "Forgive me?"

Checking it was clear, Beecher pulled him to the back of the Pod and told him.

Knowing this was getting out of hand, he disentangled himself and Alvarez reluctantly allowed himself to be pushed down to sit on the freshly made, he noticed, bunk. Beecher sat on the foot locker, gave him a warning look as the man reached for him then sat back breathing hard.

He smiled reassuringly, how could Miguel still look uncertain after that? "I intend to spend the night in here, not back in the 'Hole'," and nodded in the direction of the quad. Alvarez followed his direction and saw Murphy stood arms folded, shaking his head in exasperation.

Once alone, he set a steady gaze on the sheepish Miguel. "Tell me and don't make me repeat myself."

Miguel had not exactly been looking forwards to this, had known he would want an explanation and didn't feel the satisfaction that Ryan had on regaling him. He spoke quietly, nervously. He'd half-expected Beecher to ignore his part in it or, at least acknowledge what he had done for him. He'd not expected thanks, had not looked for it. Had in fact got all the validation he needed from hearing that laughter over a fortnight ago. Now he had a foreboding, after all, he really didn't know Beecher.

"It was in bottles of drink. The pest control stuff they use in the kitchen. In four bottles, two just in case they became suspicious even knowing how bad them drinks taste. They weren't, they took the bottles but there was a scuffle and Shillinger and Robson lost their trays.

"So they.." Beecher noted the plural "..used the back up plan. Brusmalis 'just' happened to be hanging about laughed to Rebadow. And the arrogance that Ry...that we banked on worked. Shillinger went to take the old man's tray. Rebadow objected so Shillinger took his drink 'n' looking at him, drank it in one then took Brusmalis' tray. Guess he didn't like the special diet food."

Shrugging he watched his hands. "Robson took Rebadow's tray but stole someone else's drink. Shillinger got both doses at once. Was meant to take two separate lots. Should have took longer for his insides to break down. Died that night." He couldn't look at Beecher, he'd heard the intake of breath at the mention of the pair of old men.

Beecher was finding it difficult to control his growing anger. "How the fuck could you put Bob and Agamemnon in such danger?" Miguel's fingers were frantically picking at each other again "And just why the fuck could you trust O'Riely?" Miguel's head was hanging "Don't make me ask again!" He was really pissed at always having to repeat himself. He was in no mood to put up with Alvarez' reticence.

"The old men had been warned no matter what don't drink. Needed them just in case." He realised it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he did. Beecher's hands fisted in the silence.

"And O'Riely?" through tightly gritted teeth.

Miguel had shrunk in on himself, head now in hands, he admitted, "He owed me." He couldn't believe this was going so wrong. Surely Beecher should be happy, relieved if not grateful. But he was so angry. Including the old men had been a mistake but what had he got against O'Riely? It wasn't fair. Why didn't Beecher understand why he'd had to do this?

It came so suddenly. Beecher had him by the jaw, other hand on the back of his neck, dragging him up as if he could, would, break his neck. All Miguel did was hold onto Beecher's top as the man spoke steadily in his ear, "Why did O'Riely owe you?"

It was difficult for Miguel to speak being held so tight "eath..for..a.. death" he managed to squeeze out.

"How dare you put yourself in such danger? And for O'Riely?" He shook him, not sure whether he really wanted to hurt him or not. "That you put yourself in danger from those Aryan Bastards!"

"That's...that's why you had to be in the 'Hole'." Alvarez sort of bounced as if he was fighting to keep his knees from giving out but Beecher would not ease up.

"And you," Beecher reminded him. "But everyone still thinks I arranged it. Robson and the others will think I arranged it. Now they will come after me again!" Beecher fought through the tightness in his throat, "And after you!" He shook him again in emphasis. "Just what the fuck were you thinking?" He saw a tear well up, brim over.

"Perdone. Forgive me, please, Toby. Forgive me. I'm sorry. I'm..." He was obviously miserable, in pain and still even now he would not stand up for himself, would not fight him.

"Not. This!" and threw him down onto the bunk.

Alvarez remained where he'd landed, splayed out having hit the Plexi hard enough to bring concerned stares off the two old cons leaning on Bob's bunk. Turning his back, Beecher stood in front of the mirror and studied the visage reflected that he hardly recognised. He fought to control his anger, the chocking sobs from behind him, this time however, infuriating him more.

He took a steadying breath. "How did you manage to get those two involved?" twisting to point at the audience Alvarez was oblivious to. He was watching Beecher but all he could see was the death of his hope, could not understand why he'd reacted like this. Beecher hadn't finished "What did you use? Threats? Blackmail? To get them to put their lives in danger for your 'little plan'?

"They care about you. When they asked, I told them why I wanted the needle. They wanted to help."

Beecher turned back to the sink, clutching at the rim with his head hanging. A more resigned voice, "And I suppose you think you did all this for me." It wasn't ego, just a suspicion of how Miguel's actions, mind had been working recently.

"N.. o," small hesitant but the truth.

That actually surprised him. He turned around, rested on the metal sink with arms folded but under control. "Then why Miguel?"

It took a while but then, "For…me." Alvarez finally moved, pulling his legs up and curling against the Plexi, focusing on his painfully picking fingers. Beecher crouched down to look in at him signalling Bob and Agamemnon to, 'please leave them alone'.

"Why? Because of the taunts? Because of him punching you?" He knew of men dying here for less.

"No," shot Miguel with a brief spark of anger.

"Then why?" No response. "Why? Damn it!" And he grabbed at an ankle, intending to pull the man towards him. Miguel tried to kick him off, curling up defensively in the back corner. Beecher succeeded in grabbing at a wrist, held it firmly, dragging at him. "Why Miguel?" Beecher felt he was going mad, reaching the end of his tether, he was livid once more. The two old men could have gotten killed! And Miguel could be still, hurt, killed in revenge. Taken away from him! This wasn't over. It could happen.

Why had he been so foolish? Now also, Beecher would never be able to kill the man himself. The revenge that deserved to be his had been taken away from him in some misguided folly. "_Why?_" a voice so full of venom and invective all contained in one word making up for the lack of volume. He so wanted to scream at the man but managed to keep enough awareness not to draw the Hacks.

He shook him hard by the tightening grip on his wrist. Alvarez finally looked at him, eyes hard, face twisted in anger and pain. Spitting back, "Because the Bastard hurt you! Because he would hurt you again. Kill You! I just couldn't see that. I won't lose you. Not now," his voice was losing spirit, went quiet "Cause I can't bare the thought of losing you." He turned his face away.

Beecher's anger dispelled in an instant, that small voiced final confession pulling at his soul. Miguel could always do that to him and always without meaning too. Alvarez had done this thing for the very same reasons that had made him so livid. He'd been scared of losing him. He let go of the wrist as if it now burnt him and the distraught man covered his head.

Miguel was finding it hard to breath, his throat became tight, his lungs burning as he heaved in breath. Why did life always do this to him? Whenever he felt things getting better, going in his favour, something would happen to strip it all away. He'd just wanted to keep Beecher safe. To keep safe the man he was now under no illusions that he loved and, in his success, it had all gone wrong.

Toby was furious with him, had sounded as if he wanted to kill him and he didn't understand why. Through the roaring in his head he knew Beecher was still talking, demanding that he answer, that he speak. He would not speak, he had already said too much. The noise angry in his head would not let him hear the change in tone, the concern Beecher was showing, the contrite placating remarks. Lost in the turmoil of ragging emotions, Miguel Alvarez reacted as he had many a time in the past when there was no release no reason. He lashed out.

Launching himself at the man, crouching down peering at him, knocking him hard against the toilet then he grabbing the startled man by his clothes, fingers catching the skin on his chest, pulled and hurled him against the back wall. Pulled, rammed him back a couple of times, a fractural wail leaving his lips.

Beecher tried to break the hold on him. He'd been taken totally off guard having forgotten how this man could switch from victim to aggressor instantly, no warning. Grabbing at Miguel's face, he tried to force his head back, away, not having managed to loosen the hold on his clothes as Miguel continued to pull and push him into the wall.

His thumb slipped into Alvarez' mouth under such differing circumstances than the last time but with startling effect. Miguel's energy dissipated, he began to keen and the shaking became shudders. Beecher heard his top ripping at the seams as, still clutching the fabric, Alvarez sank to his knees.

One moment fearing almost for his life, the next, Beecher found a shuddering sobbing man hanging off him. He crouched down ignoring the shooting pains in his shoulders and, grasping Miguel's hands, began to peel the now pliant fingers off him one by one. Alvarez just dropped, huddled there but as Beecher once more touched his face, shot around and getting up tried to run from him.

He didn't get far as Beecher grabbed him from behind and pulled him backwards. He struggled still making that, to Beecher, hideous noise but he surrounded him, encircling arms pulling him back against himself, pinning his arms to his sides.

Murphy stopped outside their Pod. About to call for the door to be opened and backup, he saw the anguish on Alvarez' face and that Beecher was just holding, rocking him. He hadn't witnessed the violence just the sobbing man. He wasn't sure if it was intuition, pity or what, but guessed that if Alvarez was dragged away now, he would end in either the morgue or the psyche ward again. He did not really give a shit but knew both men would not go without a fight and he could definitely do without the hassle. Or, having to explain to the Nun. Whatever had happened had not shed blood and was calming down so he decided to leave them and check back in a few minutes. He knew he shouldn't but hey! Turning he moved away.

Miguel didn't think, he just felt. The last time he'd felt this bad he'd stood staring as he ripped up a sheet preparing the noose. Then he'd not wanted to be saved. Now he did. The arms holding him, rocking him, the hand stroking his hair all called to him.

Slowly he stilled, relaxed leaning back against the man he could so easily of killed in his rage, his confusion. He let his head fall back onto Beecher's shoulder and stared up at the ceiling.

Beecher in turn, felt Miguel give one of those deep sighs giving all up. He released the tight grip around Miguel's arms and instead pushed his hands under and encircled his waist, leaning his cheek against his temple. He said nothing. They had exchanged more words this night than at anytime previous and look where it had taken them. It had needed to be said and more was to come he knew, but not now. Now he just continued to hold the still man.

Slowly Alvarez' arms moved to cover Beecher's and his head dropped forwards, watching his fingers pick at a cuff on the man's sleeve. Beecher's already numb legs became painful so, speaking softly, "I have to stand," and urged the now compliant body off his leg.

Stood, Beecher once more encircled the silent man's waist from behind, leaning his forehead on a shoulder. Covering Toby's arms again Miguel didn't dare utter a word, a sound. He was ashamed of his violence. The man so patient, so forgiving, never deserved to be treated like that by him or anybody but especially him.

The anger Toby had shown, evident in his hurt jaw and painful wrist, for once he didn't think he deserved but Toby had so he must. In trying to do what he knew had to be done he'd not considered that it could make him so angry at him. He didn't know that Beecher felt cheated or more, that in risking his friends and himself he had frightened Beecher.

He didn't regret conspiring with O'Riely to kill the Bastards or that he still did. He had to keep Toby safe. Selfishly, for himself. He needed him so much.

He could remember a time when he was strong, in control, when people had looked to him to be in charge, to be a leader and he had relied on no one but himself. But not now. With all that he'd endured, on his own, he was failing, in everything.

He'd seen the older man as a lifeline, a secure safe place. It was wondrous to him that the man he'd so recently hurt, somehow emotionally and just recently physically, he knew he had, it had been the intention of his rage, was still holding him, comforting him. If he had any lingering doubt, he now knew that the man behind him owned him. He owned his body and he own his heart.

Before it had been a conscious decision that only what Beecher wanted mattered, that he would do anything the man asked, demanded of him. It seemed ludicrous now that he'd thought he had a choice. There wasn't one. He was Beecher's. It was as simple as that. That was to be his life from now on and if Beecher decided he didn't want him, if he threw him away? That would be the end.

Unaware that he held this man's life in his hands as he did the man in his arms, Beecher loosened those arms and, hands on his waist, urged him to turn and having the man not exactly face to face, as he wouldn't raise his head, encircled him once more, pulling him close, hand on the back of his head, arm across his back.

Miguel held on to him as he had times before, his hands digging into those shoulders. The man hissed and Miguel sprang backwards, hands going to his temples. What had he done now? Beecher came at him.

The hiss had been involuntary. Beecher couldn't endure the painful fingers, it was just too much on his abused back where he had been hit against the wall repeatedly. Taking Miguel's hands, forcing them from his head, "No. No more tears. There's no need for them." He placed them on his back but much lower, drawing him back to him. "Spend the night sleeping with me?" He breathed into his ear "I'll risk it if you will."

An intake of breath, a sobbed, "Tobias," and smiling, drew back and slowly removed his torn fleece and kicking off his shoes took Miguel's hand leading him to the bottom bunk where he pulled him down with him, under him. He wouldn't be able to take both their weights on his abused back so this time, Beecher lay down with his head on Alvarez' chest. They were both ragged and after a couple of strokes to a face, a kiss to a chin, they slept. Often waking, shifting positions, they stayed together and miraculously, on that night, they were not forcibly parted.

==000==

TBC...


	16. Chapter 16

As the lights came on, Beecher awoke stiff, confined and, with amazement, still entangled with Alvarez who was playing with his hair. They had been left alone and he had an inkling it was thanks to Murphy. Not wasting time pondering, he shifted, leaning on an elbow and gazed at Miguel. The playing fingers moved to his cheek and smiling, he rolled further onto the man and kissed him slowly.

A noise and they broke to see Chief Officer Murphy bending to retrieve the Nightstick he had somehow managed to drop right in front of their Pod. Reluctantly and with some groaning at stiff muscles and limbs, they rose, moving around each other preparing for 'Count' and the coming day.

Alvarez found he couldn't stop touching Beecher. Quick presses, strokes with fingertips every time the man came near him and once more Beecher was charmed by the man's actions. It brought a smile to his lips whenever he was unobserved and when he was, he continued to smile inside.

Each time he saw Alvarez, he was pleased to see him appearing more confident. His easy stride had returned naturally and he'd finally stopped trying to hide, even in plain sight. He'd returned to wearing that blue and white kerchief on his head and he found he liked it, thinking it cute, no doubt not the wearer's intention.

Maybe the surfacing of the underlying violence, both knew existed in themselves and each other, had somehow cleared the air. It was as if both had been wary of the undercurrents and now it had appeared, without serious damage or a parting of the ways, they could both relax with themselves and the other.

Beecher knew now he would forgive Miguel almost anything ignoring the echoes of the past and Alvarez was relieved that when he had 'lost it' he'd not managed to destroy what was now the only important thing in his life. Not just the man himself but that Beecher still seemed to want him.

Not that he'd managed to control the impulse to attack but that he couldn't follow through. He was aware now that his fear, that he was capable of really harming Beecher, was foundless. He wouldn't be able to do it. He would die first.

But he wanted to live and wanted Beecher to live, perfectly aware that others were certainly capable of harming Beecher. That's why he was leaning back, hands holding onto the table in the arena, listening to Ryan O'Riely tell him it was now time to help Ryan with his perceived problem before they continued on with his own.

Over the next few days, Beecher's fears of an attack from the Aryan Brotherhood proved to be just that. It wasn't that the Bastards left him alone and hence Alvarez, as much as they found them selves protected. In the canteen, in corridors, even in Em City there were always bodies putting themselves between any possible altercation or even taunts.

It was driving Robson crazy. Near all the factions, even Hoyt and the bikers were always there, keeping the little shits out of his reach. It was as though there was a universal gratitude to the man for ridding them of Shillinger. It even extended to Beecher's so called friends. Every move he and his fellow Aryans made was blocked.

With the loss of Vern they had lost any respect or power they'd held. The four in Em City were having it worst of all. One in the hospital, one in the 'Hole' and two very nervous men looking to him to do something about it. Robson fumed. Much more of a follower than a driving force, he felt impotent and it was eating at him.

It was obvious every one believed Beecher was responsible no matter he'd been out of the way. Convenient that but Robson wasn't so sure. He looked to that Spic, Miguel Alvarez. He knew one of those bottles was meant for him and it was just sheer luck on his part that Vern had taken both the old men's drinks. They were on his list too.

Momentarily blocked, his anger and hatred grew and the focus was on Alvarez.

==000==

END OF PART ONE

TBC...


	17. Chapter 17

Why? Part 2

* * *

Beecher was astonished and gladdened by the noticeable changes in Alvarez' demeanour over the past few weeks. He showed much more confidence, both outside of the Pod and with him.

Never the instigator, but he did manage to make it perfectly clear when he wanted Beecher to have sex with him. Still never saying so or making a move on him, Miguel just seemed to know how to get him so turned on with just a look or a deliberate twisting of his hips that Beecher would be unable to resist.

He was doing it again now. Stood against the back wall with hand on stomach, hips pushed forwards, he was looking up at him through those lashes. The head was dropped but the look was anything but shy. The lights had been out what? Two minutes? And Beecher laughed, leaning back on the sink with his arms crossed.

Alvarez grinned wickedly. That had also changed. Beecher was free to laugh without him taking it as a slap in the face or thinking himself mocked. In the last week he'd also shown his confidence during their lovemaking, no longer apologising thinking he'd done something wrong. Still leaving it to Beecher to decide if and what they should do, his hints aside, but he was no longer totally submissive or tentative, wondering what he should or should not dare.

After all, Beecher thought, he'd had plenty of practice.

Now, he just remained watching him, teasing him, wanting to see what he'd do next. He was also waiting for the time that Alvarez would not wait, would actually come to him but not yet apparently. If he kept watching, Alvarez would continue to try to get his interest. If he turned away, Alvarez would submit and wait for the next opportunity without complaint. He kept watching, enjoying the view.

Alvarez looked down as he pulled his top up with slow moving fingertips, his other hand on his stomach descending into his waistband to rub across his belly. He bit at his bottom lip knowing that the action, that he no longer did unknowingly, was sure to get Beecher. If that did somehow fail, which was seldom, he had a back up.

The man had somehow discovered his liking for lollypops and he often found one on his pillow or in his footlocker. It made him feel so warm inside every time he did but it had taken him a while to work out just what it was he innocently did to one that resulted in him never finishing that particular candy.

But not now. He didn't need it, for Beecher had pushed him hard against the wall and he responded with equal vigour as he felt his mouth forced open by a tongue invading, demanding.

One of Beecher's earliest speculations had proved to be true. Alvarez liked it rough, seemed to relish being 'taken' more than anything else and for the most part, he was happy to oblige. Soon though, he was determined to feel the other man's prick inside himself, something Alvarez always managed to avoid no matter how many 'hints' Beecher dropped. He was not going to tell him to do it or even ask. Miguel should want to do it without being pressured. He'd already made it clear that he would 'allow' him to.

He stopped thinking and turned to something else Alvarez would never do. He always left it to Beecher to undress him and he always enjoyed it, slowly or, in this case, not, exposing Miguel's body to his searching hands, eyes, mouth, piece by piece.

Alvarez was panting, twisting his hips against the rapidly burgeoning man and raised his arms as Beecher divested him of his shirt, careful not to disturb his kerchief. That was something else Miguel had noted, Beecher always left it on him unless he was in one of his, 'this is a serious lovemaking' moods.

Not now though. Alvarez knew he was to be truly fucked as he found his wrists pinned to the wall by his head as Beecher returned to his mouth, pulling at his lips, tongue darting in around his teeth then jousting with his own as a knee forced his legs to move further apart. The almost painful grinning against his groin stopped as Beecher released his hold to undo Miguel's jeans.

Swiftly pushing them, down Alvarez kicked them off and quickly took the opportunity and turned to the wall before Beecher could stop him. His body squashed against the cool surface, palms spread close to his turned head and Beecher pushed against him. He moaned, hinting at his pleasure as one of Beecher's hands held onto his face, thumb inside his mouth, as the other played with his firm butt, kneading him hard. This wasn't what Toby would have preferred. He was doing it for him, what he knew he craved.

Still holding the man's gasping face flush to the wall, Beecher reached down and unzipped his jeans, cleared himself and then reached for the lube he'd just happened to place under his pillow. Releasing Miguel, he swiftly used the lube to cover himself then, throwing it down, placed both hands on that so tight ass.

Alvarez moaned as he felt his buttocks spread apart and Beecher begin to open him with a thumb rubbing gel onto him. Beecher forced the thumb tip in then the other, stretching him non too gently and lined himself up, slowly pushing in, waiting a breath, then further. No matter what Alvarez seemed to want, he was not going to hurt him on purpose. Hearing another moan, the man's hands clutching at the wall, he held onto the narrow hips and, feeling the relaxing, drove in straight to his limit.

Miguel's head threw back, a noise sounding both of anguish and ecstasy as he felt himself filled, taken, consumed all at once. This is what he craved. He could feel the top of the zip on Beecher's jeans scratching at his spread butt, hear the slapping of the man's balls as they hit him as he slowly began to thrust long and hard into him.

Beecher moved a hand under and to hold onto the younger man's arm, covering that daggered heart, his other grasping tightly to a taught thigh. He knew that Alvarez would not want or need his hand to help him cum as his prick was repeatedly forced against the wall. He studied Miguel's face, eyes tightly closed, gasping out through open but somehow smiling lips.

He changed to quick harsh thrusts, as his partner seemed to like this best, being taken just short of violent. He hoped Miguel didn't want it violent. He remembered what that was like, would never indeed be able to forget. He also remembered to be careful. Miguel would be sore after this but he never wanted to damage him, a few bruises aside to match the ones he frequently received.

Leaning forwards, pushing with his whole weight against the shuddering man, he bit at a shoulder eliciting more deep moaning as he dragged his teeth over the tattoo there. He'd never been quite sure what it was supposed to be but didn't care now as, releasing the arm and thigh, he used both hands to cover Miguel's fingers, clasping his between the other's.

Pushing his cheek against Miguel's, their breaths combining, he changed rhythm once more knowing he was running out of energy and time. They both appeared to be staring at the interlocked hands as, with a final slow deep thrust, he came, grasping Miguel's hand so hard he had a moment of worry that he'd broken it but Miguel gave a laughing explosive breath as he slid his face down along the wall, moving his hips still. Beecher just wanted to collapse but, breathing hard, he used his hips and weight to continue to push Alvarez against the wall. Only a couple of times and the man went rigid then jerked, but not changing position in the slightest.

Finally able to relax, Beecher backed away dragging himself from Miguel's shuddering heat. Standing back, breathing heavily, he braced himself for what was sure to come next. No surprise now as Alvarez flung himself from the wall to engulf him, arms clutching him tightly as he buried his face in his neck once more.

Rocking a bit unsteadily, Beecher held him as Miguel pulled at his clothes, at his new fleece, navy on a whim, and the waistband of his jeans. That Beecher remained fully clothed, dressed down to and including his shoes, somehow pandered to Miguel's idea, desire, that he himself being totally naked was a possession.

He knew what to expect next and it was this he desperately hoped for the day, night, that it stopped. Sure enough, Alvarez started placing small quick kisses on his neck and jaw, interspersed with 'thankyous' and more usually 'Grasias' as if he thought he had to thank him for anything he was willing to dish out.

Beecher pushed him off for the final scene in this particular drama. Alvarez still needed assurance that he'd done everything right and that he'd not offended in any way. He held him loosely by the hips and yes, seeing that yearning in the eyes, smiled, running the back of his bent fingers down that face, watching the dipping of the eyes, the shy smile then, rubbing his thumb along those parted lips, lifted his head and deeply kissed him. Miguel once more melted and relaxed. The kiss ended and he smiled at Beecher, grateful, contented. Safe.

Beecher turned to the sink, wet a flannel and cleaned himself. Fastening his jeans, he knew he wasn't expected to undress until Miguel was 'put away' in his bunk and turned his attention to cleaning off the white, staining his top. All this was done with the hindrance of Alvarez who insisted on holding the back of his waistband as he stared at him through the mirror, watching everything he did.

Although Miguel felt he'd made great steps in becoming more confident like he used to be, he still had a fear that if he let this man go, he would lose him. That's why still he touched him whenever he could, quickly, but just to reassure himself that he was still there.

He knew it to be ridiculous but caught himself doing it all the time, in the meal hall, while sat watching TV, anytime he could be near him. He had stopped caring that anyone saw. Everyone who was remotely interested knew that Beecher was fucking him and it didn't matter anymore. He'd not been humiliated as he'd feared, except by Shillinger and company of course, but look what had happened to him. So no one had ridiculed him, not within earshot at any rate.

What should he worry anyway if Beecher didn't? The only snide comments he was aware of came from O'Riely as he constantly teased him but didn't think it truly malicious. Just something else Ryan used to goad him as he always had.

Beecher disentangled the hand from his pants and still holding it, he turned, ran the back of his fingers down the waiting cheek in the manner Miguel loved and, kissing him a final time, left him, jumping up onto his bunk and lay listening as Miguel washed, then climbed into his own bunk so he could undress and truly turn in. He was not surprised to wake in the morning fully clothed. The man gently shaking him awake was truly knackering him out.

He turned to gaze at Miguel and returned the affectionate smile.

==000==

Robson was completely pissed off with biding his time. He'd been a fool to announce his intended revenge but the loss of his friend had really thrown him. But he'd not been stupid enough to follow through, especially with all the protection surrounding the Bastard but that, he'd noticed, had been waning.

Over the last week or so, plenty more had happened, something always did to capture people's attention. 'Have you heard the latest' was common world wide and a lot happened in Oswald's. Two of the major drug suppliers had turned up dead for a start and that had caused a Lockdown not to mention a few strung out users.

Still, if Beecher showed up dead, as appealing as that notion was, he would still no doubt find it difficult not to be held accountable. The same for that shit, Alvarez, who was his main target now. It was bad enough how the Spic had been affecting him before he held him responsible for depriving him of Vern.

He'd never really noticed him before he started shaking his ass for Beecher, thought that was what had caught his notice, not really his type, but still. Lying on his bunk in Unit B, there must be a way to get back to the Emerald City? He reran in his head the scheme he had come up with to cause grief and pain to them both without actually having to kill either.

Grinning in anticipation, he jumped down off his bunk grabbing his new cellmate, fresh from the outside world, and forced him to his knees. Standing before the cowering man, he grabbed hold of his hair forcing his head back, relishing the fearful look in the eyes. He just grinned wider. The trembling man had soon discovered what was expected of him.

==000==

TBC...


	18. Chapter 18

"Nah. I still don't like it. Robson's dangerous!" He looked at Cyril who seemed oblivious. Ryan was glad that his brother didn't remember. The damaged man had enough as it was causing the repeated nightmares. Nothing anyone who cared had tried had managed to dispel them.

Alvarez was convinced it was their best shot. The man still stared at his ass all the time as if making up for the fact he couldn't get near him. Things had been very quiet from that corner but he knew it was just a matter of time. They had to strike first.

O'Riely had been trying to talk the Latino out of it as he'd decided that Alvarez was not as expendable as he'd thought. More or less back to his old cocksure self, he was confidant, controlled and very useful. He'd proved it now on several occasions. Beecher seemed to be turning a blind eye to their involvement, the only hint of his disapproval that implicit threat spoken over a fortnight ago, "Don't let him get hurt!"

That's all he'd said but Ryan took the rest as read and Beecher could be a mad dangerous fucker when it came to revenge. But as he'd already admitted to himself, Alvarez was too useful to waste. He still didn't like the plan but Alvarez was set. He wanted to do it himself. "And how you gonna convince Robson you want him to fuck you? He's not that stupid." He looked him squarely in the eye.

"The way he keeps checkin' out my ass? It wouldn't take much convincing. His brains are in his balls. Drop him a couple of looks over the next day or so. Maybe..." but he didn't like this idea, "Maybe have a public go at Tob… Beecher. Make it look like I just want to piss him off."

"Yeah...but... No. There must be a better way. He's a lot bigger than you. If there's a fight, you'll lose, Amante!"

Alvarez didn't like to admit it but he could see Ryan's point. "You'll be close by. Won't you?" It wasn't really a question.

"Okay, don't sweat it. But... " thinking of anything to put him off the foolish idea, "What if you get caught? You won't be with Beecher over in isolation will ya?"

"Sure. Self defence. Everyone, even the Hacks know he's got it in for Beecher 'n' me."

"That's exactly why I don't think it wise to do it like this. What about poison again?" as if a bright idea.

"I already thought of that but, O'Riely? You ever seen 'im accept anything from your hand lately? He knows."

It was true, the man wouldn't touch anything either he or Cyril was dishing out so his part was definitely known. That's the only reason he'd agreed to this idiotic plan. Self-preservation led you to a lot of actions you wouldn't normally attempt and, there was Cyril.

"It'll work!" Alvarez stated as he pushed himself off Ryan's sink. He'd caught the habit off Beecher but hadn't noticed. "I'll tell you when. Just be ready." And with that he left a worrying Ryan as he skipped down the stairs to watch TV, waiting for Toby to come 'Home'.

==000==

Two days later, it took very little to pick a public 'quarrel' with Beecher. It had been brewing since the day before but Toby had held his tongue convinced that he must be imagining things but this was the final straw.

Attuned to all of Alvarez' movements, he'd noticed that whenever under Robson's scrutiny, which was most of the time they were in the same area, Miguel had started to slouch even more than usual. His easy gait had incorporated a slight lilting of the hips, his pelvis sitting forwards and it was having an affect on him at the most inconvenient of times. But judging from the look Miguel had just bestowed on the man from Unit B, none of it was for Beecher.

He could only describe it as a, 'come hither' look to the sitting man as he 'swayed' past. Robson definitely hadn't missed it either, his eyes like limpets on Alvarez' back as he practically sashayed his way over to their table. Then the way he set down his tray, sticking out his backside in an obviously provocative manor whilst catching Robson's eye. It was as if he'd been studying how the mincing queens of Em City constantly behaved without going quite that far.

As he sat opposite, watching Miguel watch Robson, he saw that smile, that ducking of eyes as if flirting, what he'd done with him in fact, but this time it was done consciously. Beecher lost it.

Slamming his fork down, he leant forwards and spoke through gritted teeth, "What the fuck are you doing?"

A flitting glance across the canteen was his only reply. Alvarez had to make sure Robson was still watching before he hurt his own heart causing this fight. He shrugged. "Nada," and proceeded to eat. Before the fork could reach his mouth, Beecher had his jaw in hand, forcing his head up to look at him.

Letting go before the Hacks noticed, Beecher spat at Miguel, "Just what the fuck d'you think you're playing at?" He was sure there must be a perfectly logical reason. To Alvarez if not to him.

"I told you. Nada. Noth-ing!" staring back. He hoped he looked angry, as inside he hated himself.

Beecher was aghast. "Do you think I'm blind?" He noticed the slight wince but was too angry to care. Silence surrounded them as the men honed in on this new piece of drama. Miguel made to rise, as he couldn't stand this anymore. "Sit your ass down. I haven't finished with you yet!"

Alvarez nearly obeyed then remembered why he was doing this. He stood, leaning on the table and swayed forwards, "Oh yeah? Well maybe I've finished with you. It's my ass. I can put it where I want!" He picked up his tray, leaving a speechless Beecher and sauntered away, glancing over to Robson then, depositing his uneaten lunch, caught O'Riely's eye before leaving the meal hall.

Desperately trying to ignore the spectacle he had just made of himself, and worse, the public insult to the man he loved, he made it back to Em City fearing he would break down and abandon the plan with every step.

Beecher had made to follow but Bob placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Don't be a greater fool than he has already made you," quietly to his ear. So he sat and fumed hearing the catcalls and derisive laughter Alvarez' departure elicited. His look over at Robson was of a completely different nature.

The man returned his regard with mock sympathy, patting at his heart then blew him a kiss and, laughing, turned to talk to the rest at his table. Laughter erupted and Beecher once more made to raise violence in his heart. "No Toby" grabbing at him. "That's what they want. Don't give them a chance to fight you!" He collapsed back.

Bob was right. They were just taking the opportunity to get a rise from him. Said motioned, catching his eye, showing he was there if Beecher wanted to speak. He nodded his thanks and went back to slowly fuming inside.

What the hell had happened? What game was Miguel playing other than a dangerous one? He was truly dumbfounded. Just what had he done to make Alvarez behave like this? Shaking his ass in front of that Bastard was pure madness. Was he trying to make him jealous or just piss him off? Whichever it was working.

Or was it because yesterday, worried at seeing him once more ensconced with O'Riely, he had practically ordered him not to do anything more to help the Irishman? He'd gone back on all he'd said and more or less forbidden him. He'd received no answer, had gotten distracted as Miguel bit his bottom lip.

So was this just payback? Becoming more assertive, was he trying to get him back, make him angry without actually telling him to butt out of his and O'Riely's affairs? Turning to his meal he was too angry to think this through anymore and decided to go straight to his work assignment. He needed to calm down before he confronted Alvarez or he may do something he was sure to regret.

=0=

While Beecher sat at the computer, going over the thousand or so reasons why Miguel should have suddenly turned from him, Alvarez sauntered into the library and sure enough, found the pack from Unit B in residence.

Hovering by a bookcase close to the door, he began to idly finger the books until Robson took the bait. He came to stand next to him, arms folded, his back to the others as if trying to hide what was said. Alvarez prayed that the shaking and nausea did not show.

Selecting a book pretending to study it, it was on Fly Fishing of all things, he said quietly, "I was afraid you hadn't noticed me."

"That would be hard. What you after?"

Miguel replaced the book and dropping his hand, let it brush down Robson's thigh. He shrugged. He knew he was playing with fire but he had set his course. Eyes flitting up then away, "I like it rough. Hard," he breathed then shrugged again. "Thought you could oblige," inching closer.

"And why would I want a piece of shit like you?"

Shit! But he'd closed the gap, stood almost touching him. Miguel pouted, shifted slightly, the back of his hand rubbing across the man's definitely interested prick. "Well if you're not interested."

"You don't want me. You just trying to piss off lover boy?"

Miguel smiled, leaned in, "Knew you'd understand."

Robson pressed into his hip, arms still crossed, giving him a look Alvarez could easily recognise. He breathed into the man's ear having to tilt up slightly, "Stationary room. Half an hour," and tuned to leave wanting to gag.

Robson couldn't believe his luck. He smiled. The little Spic was making it so easy for him. A little too easy.

==000==

TBC...


	19. Chapter 19

**warning**...read at your own risk...non con/rape

like I said before...just another day in OZ

* * *

It all went incredibly, disastrously wrong.

Alvarez thought that the man hadn't taken the bait. Also he was beginning to agree with O'Riely but could not turn back now.

Stood in the supply room, he fidgeted, jumping at every perceived noise. Ryan hissed at him a couple of times from his hidden post to just, 'calm the fuck down,' or he would leave. He thought they should anyway.

Although they'd made a successful team so far, he still didn't like this, something didn't fit right. About to insist that they abort, the door opened and closed swiftly.

Looking around, their target's eyes soon settled on Alvarez, leaning back against the shelves, trying to appear as provocative as he could. Hips lazily thrust forwards, hand slowly rubbing at his belly. It worked so well on Beecher, why not this Bastard?

Grinning, Robson moved towards him, stopping a couple of yards short. "Well? I'm here."

Miguel pouted again, he was getting good at it. "But you kept me waiting," petulant.

"Oh, but I'm worth it!"

'Conceited bastard', but Alvarez started running a finger along the inside of his jean's waistband. "So you gonna stand and look or come here?"

Robson gave him a leer. "No. You. Come. Here!"

Pushing away languidly, he sauntered closer, stopping just short by mere inches. Ryan had to admit he would be taken in. Alvarez moved the hand off his belly to flick a finger across Robson's stomach before toying with a shirt button, his right hand he lightly placed on the man's hip, keeping it clear as he pushed forwards sighing. He was beginning to feel ill and hoped that his rapid breathing hinted at anticipation and not fear. He tilted his face up and placed his cheek next to the other's.

Robson held him by the shoulders and began to rub his groin across the slighter figure. He used the tip of his tongue to run lightly up the scar on Miguel's cheek, feeling him shudder and the hand leave his hip. Once more he licked, this time with full tongue from jaw to temple.

Alvarez shuddered, again hoping that the man mistook the tremor as his hand moved to retrieve the shank from the back of his jeans. One swift motion and Robson had him bent over backwards, arms painfully twisted up his back. "Do you really think me so stupid?" as Alvarez found himself trapped.

"What's wrong? What you doin'?" as he tried futilely to break the man's hold on him. O'Riely? Where the fuck was O'Riely? "Come on, man. Ease up!" and Robson laughed but there was no real humour in it. Ryan had been right, Robson was much stronger than he was.

"Ho ho," the man said, "You're in trouble now, boy!" as he used his head to turn Miguel's and together they both watched, with very differing expressions, as O'Riely was dumped, bleeding from head and side, onto the floor by two others of Robson's clan.

Alvarez began to struggle in earnest. Shit! He couldn't tell if Ryan still breathed. 'I'm so sorry, Toby', he thought as his right arm was twisted out causing him to drop the blade and he was forced around to kneel in numbing terror and pain, as his arms were forced higher up his back.

He had wanted to remove this bane from Toby's life but instead he was to die. Head down with eyes tightly shut, he didn't need to see, he sensed a shifting then was forced by his arms to kneel up painfully on the concrete floor. "You asked me here. Don't you want to look at me?" from before him.

A slap, another until he opened his eyes, his ears ringing as his head was forced up by the large hand clasping his jaw. He stared numbly into the maniacally grinning face of Robson as, with his free hand, the man began to undo his pants. Shit. Fuck. Fuck! He began to struggle again but extra pressure on his arms made it totally useless.

"Now, you're not going to disappoint me are you?"

Alvarez clamped his jaw so tight he thought that his teeth might break and shook his head around trying to dislodge that hand. He wanted to scream, cry out his rage and fear but that was the last thing he would do in front of these fuckers. His jaw was released, the hand now clamping onto his forehead, pushing his head back. Through his aching, compressed teeth, he threatened, "I'll finish what _He_ started!" He would not say Tobias' name here, the man would know.

Robson laughed, nodding to the third man and Alvarez felt his own jeans undone and his head was forced down to watch as the man used the handle of his own discarded weapon to flip out his prick. Reversing the shank, he placed the blade against the top of his shaft, so close that if he breathed too hard it would cut him. Again his forehead was forced back. "You will look up at me the whole time." Alvarez' wide eyes were staring up in pure horror. Robson tilted his head to one side and clucked his tongue then pressed his hard, if incomplete cock, against Miguel's lips.

He was well past panic, how could he do this? Again he was to have his choice taken away from him but he hadn't even managed to do this for Toby. Both times he had tried, he'd not been able to stop from freaking and Beecher, true to his word, had not pushed him. He was probably hoping, just as Miguel had, that soon he would come to be able to pleasure him by mouth. If Toby had insisted then it would have been a case of grin and bare it but now, as he tried to force his head away, there was searing pain as the blade cut across the top of his thigh. His teeth clamped even harder, fighting back the scream.

"Your final warning." These Bastards had obviously used this technique before, were possibly following a well established routine. A slap. "Look at me!"

His eyes shot up to Robson's face as inside he whimpered for Toby. There was that clucking noise again causing a last bit of rebellion to escape through his clenched teeth, "Why should I? You gonna kill me anyhow."

Robson laughed, acted shocked at the accusation. "Kill you? Oh no. This is merely a message. Now suck me!" and as the mutilated prick was pushed against his lips, going the coldest he had ever been, Miguel slowly opened his mouth. Any thoughts of how he could do this were dashed away as, grabbing his head with both hands, thumbs holding his eyelids stretched open, Robson forced himself all the way in.

Alvarez gagged, choking, but the man obviously didn't care as he fucked Miguel in the mouth. Alvarez wished he were insane again so he wouldn't know, realise what was happening to him. But he wasn't and he felt everything. He concentrated on hating those eyes grinning down at him, so even though he half believed he was going to die, either by choking or after, he filled his head with visions of once more taking someone's eyes. This time for himself. Then it was over.

Time had stretched but it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before he found himself gagging, trying to breath, retching at the cum in his throat. Tears leaked from his eyes as he was released, falling to the floor, his arms in agony, hardly being able to support him as he slowly managed to regain his breath.

As soon as he did, he was pulled back and held tight by Robson who was speaking intimately into his ear, "You could have been better. But look. Here's you chance to practice. Gentlemen?"

His head was dropped. He couldn't fight, could not get away and as his head was grabbed once more, it happened again. And again.

Each time he was released to recover. It would have been no use if they let him choke to death. That wasn't the plan. He was pulled upright, his knees an agony of cramp as Robson held him still from behind, knees under him, hands running over his chest as his head lolled back on the man's shoulder like a rag doll.

Through the numbness of his mind he heard, "When lover boy gets you back, I want him to know I've been everywhere he goes. If that is, he ever wants to touch you again. I had his first 'boyfriend' so why shouldn't I have you? It's what you wanted isn't it? Shaking your little ass in my face. But.. Ah…" he laughed, running his tongue over Alvarez' cheek, "you actually wanted to kill me didn't you?" The others joined in the laughter as he was derided. "You still with me?" shaking Miguel's jaw.

Miguel was trying his best to be somewhere else, to show no reaction but the hand grabbing his prick hard brought an agonised one. Still laughing, truly enjoying himself, Robson pushed the limp man forwards, watching as his arms instinctively only just stopped his face crashing into the concrete.

Alvarez was screaming in his mind as his jeans were wrenched down and he felt the man grasping his butt hard, spreading him. Then he was screaming out in reality at the soaring burning as Robson forced himself in, straight to the hilt. He was pulled backwards once more, hand clamped over his mouth, other hand on the back of his neck from under his arm.

Robson took his time now, long deep slow stokes, every thrust as if the first. He removed his hand from Alvarez' mouth to under his arm to join his other forcing the head down, arms held high as he repeatedly reared him up. He wanted to enjoy the noises the man made, groans dragged up from his depths. He knew from experience that the will to scream, to call for help, to fight, was gone.

All Alvarez' existence was pain, his legs, his knees which had begun to feel broken, his back as it arched and of course from inside. Through it all, he felt a deep sorrow for Toby. Because, if they did leave him alive, he didn't know if he would ever be able to let Toby touch him again. Even if he actually wanted to. Sorrow because Toby loved to touch him and he had craved it and he knew that was the whole purpose of this, why Robson was doing this to him. The man wanted to ruin something that was good in Toby's life, to take away the bit of solace he had found in this hell of theirs.

After an eternity Robson ejaculated deep inside him, making the vilest noise Alvarez had ever heard and he was thrown away, dropping to the floor. Gasping, he tried to make his body as limp as possible and felt the Bandanna, which had remained tied around his head as if in parody of his nights with Beecher, being dragged off but didn't see as Robson used it to clean himself.

Dressing, Robson heard a low moaning come from O'Riely. "Thought you'd killed him?" looking down at the twitching man.

"Soon can," came the reply as the man holding Alvarez' shank stepped forwards to finish the job.

"Wait!" and turning, he spoke in a sing song voice, "Alvarez? Get up," and kicked him lightly in the side. "I said get up. Stand," and kicked him harder. They stood and watched as Alvarez feebly tried to rise, his arms giving out. Hadn't they done enough? What more could happen? "I'm getting inpatient," another kick. "Stand!"

Somehow, the abused man managed to rise onto all fours and finally staggered to unsteady legs, pulling at his jeans. Miguel felt the laughter burn as did the blood seem to which he could feel tricking down the back of his thigh.

Robson was once more in front of him, holding him by the jaw. "Kiss me."

Alvarez wasn't sure who was more shocked, himself or Robson's two accomplices. Miguel slowly raised his eyes to stare into the larger man's. He vowed he would indeed take those eyes.

"I said, kiss me," and he waggled his tongue in that disgusting way of his. "Or, I'll kill O'Riely."

The hand on Miguel's jaw pushed his head to look over at the prone man. He'd thought him already dead. What did he really care now? His jaw was released. "Well?" Robson demanded. Alvarez continued to totter, holding his jeans and resumed staring at Robson.

That was unusual, thought Robson clucking his tongue, they usually didn't do that. "Or...I could kiss Beecher just before I tell him everything you did for us in here? Just before I kill him."

Somehow Alvarez found a voice, "You can try."

More laughter. "Ooo. I approve. Got you this time. Can get you again. Would you like that? Was I 'rough' enough for you? Or do you think loverboy would appreciate my attentions once more? It's you or him you know? I'm not greedy."

Alvarez would make sure that he never got the chance but he still didn't truly believe that he would leave this room alive.

A nod and O'Riely was kicked in the side where he bled. Stillness. "Kiss Me!"

So Alvarez took a step forwards. He could never allow Beecher to have to endure this, not again. He leant forwards and repulsed back as that tongue appeared again. Robson grinned then waited. So Miguel closed his lips, kissed him quickly then swayed back.

"Now I know that you must be able to do better than that. Remember, it's you or B!" Robson told him laughing.

So Miguel kissed him and felt something die inside. His eyes filled with visions of blood and revenge until that tongue thrust into his mouth and he could take no more even if it did kill him. He broke back staggering.

Robson smiled then came forwards to run a finger along his jaw, bent forwards and, for a final time, ran his tongue up that scar then, standing back, gave him another one on the opposite cheek.

Floored once more, Alvarez passed out from the pain, his mind finally releasing him from dealing with the agony that this man had caused him and not just in body.

Robson wiped the blade clean on the blue and white kerchief, folded it and placed it inside his shirt. "Come on," turning to the others, "I have to wash my mouth out then visit the library."

"Why'd you want him to kiss you?" That they were not happy with. The rest? Well hey!

Robson grinned evilly. "We fucked him, cut him and he had no choice. He was given a choice to kiss me or not. Not a very good one but still a choice. An if he ever lets lover boy touch him again he will always remember he chose to kiss me." He could tell that they didn't get it. "In his head, he'll have been 'unfaithful' to Beecher. With me!" He laughed, saw their grins. He didn't care if they got it or not. "Lets go. Gotta wash Spic off me."

==000==

TBC…


	20. Chapter 20

==000==

Returning to Em City Beecher looked around but could see no sign of a bright Bandanna anywhere so, entering his Pod, he jumped up onto his bunk. He was sure Miguel had an appointment to see the Nun but hanging around for as long as he could manage, he must have just missed him somewhere. His hand brushed something sticking out from under his pillow. A lollypop stick. He hoped Miguel hadn't returned his latest 'gift'. He needed to get some more as this morning's had been the last of his hidden supply.

Calming down after lunch, he reasoned that Miguel must have a damn good reason for his behaviour. It had been so unexpected, especially after last night. Beecher hadn't a clue but the man always had something behind all his actions even though it didn't make sense to anyone else.

He also hoped that once he explained, he would make it up to him tonight and that he'd be able to talk Miguel out off doing anything foolish. He had an awful inkling on where he was heading and he had to stop him trying before he got hurt or in trouble, or both.

He hesitated to pull out the stick, for if it was his gift returned? He lifted the pillow. No, it was just a stick, frayed at one end, sucked clean but holding together a piece of paper. Please don't let him already be up to something 'foolish'? After their argument over his involvement in Shillinger's death surely Miguel would be wiser this time and that he had already put a rest to his attempt at ridding them of his perceived threat to Beecher. He'd warned him to leave it alone. Maybe this was an apology? But doubting it, he opened the note.

Just three words. His blood ran cold. 'Toby, forgive me.' What the fuck had he done now?

He jumped from the bunk as if it were on fire, pushing the note deep into a pocket. If that fuck O'Riely had him off doing his dirty work for him, putting him at risk again for more drug profit, he would make Ryan O'Riely swallow his whole damn supply. He had made his views on that relationship clear but, then again, he did not own Alvarez, had in fact spent enough time trying to convince him of that so he couldn't forbid him to do anything. But he had been sorely tempted. O'Riely was a different matter.

==000==

This Brother sitting favour had soon begun to grate on Hill. O'Riely had asked him to keep an eye on Cyril 'just for an hour'. That was nearly three hours ago. He had managed to rope Rebadow and Brusmalis into sharing the chore. They tended to spend a lot of time together sat around a table anyway so he'd thought he wouldn't have been much trouble. Cyril had been warned to stay close to Hill and to do as he told him.

The repetitive questions had started as soon as he lost interest in the TV over an hour ago. Then to top it all, Beecher turns up practically spiting fire and asking more or less the same question, if with differing wordage. "Have you seen that fucker, O'Riely, anywhere?" and that set Cyril off again, "When's Ryan coming back? Ryan should be here. When's Ryan coming back?" It was turning into a mantra.

Hill was really losing his patience. Just what had he done to deserve this? "Cyril its okay. Ryan will be back soon." Holding up a gloved hand to still the 'when' he knew would be next. Beecher shook his shoulder, "Hey easy man! I don't know where he is okay?"

"When did you last see him?" He wanted to ask about Alvarez, after all if anyone knew of their relationship it was Hill and the two men next Pod over who could not help but know. Hell the whole fucking place knew! Wherever Alvarez was, he was sure that O'Riely wouldn't be far away.

"Look, man. And Cyril, listen this time will ya? The last time I saw O'Riely was after lunch. He came in here, dumped Cyril on me...Shit, Cyril, I'm sorry. Don't get upset okay? Hooked up with Alva.."

"Fuckin Bastard. I knew it! Where the fuck did they go?"

"Lay off! I… Don't… Know!"

Beecher tried to rein in his growing temper, crouched down, holding onto the table. Running a hand through his hair he looked at the two older, so far silent, men. "Do you know anything?" Both were uncomfortable and wouldn't look at him. "Bob. Agamemnon. Please, if you know something, where they went, tell me."

They looked at each other then Bob leant forwards, speaking quietly, "Toby. All we know is O'Riely left Cyril with Hill, said he would be back within the hour then collected Alvarez. All I heard was 'got your shank?' and 'are you really sure about this?' and then they were gone."

"Damn O'Riely. What the hell has he got him doing now?" thinking out loud in front of these he could reasonably trust, "and if Miguel didn't like the idea, why did he go?"

"Toby. No. It was Ryan asking. He did not look happy but Alvarez just stared at him and they left."

Beecher was thinking hard, "But how did they both get out of Em City at that time? And why haven't they been missed?"

"I miss Ryan."

"Cyril man, so do I," agreed Hill.

Beecher dragged a chair over and sat. How the hell could he find out where they were without causing trouble for the pair? Hopefully by now Miguel was safe with Sister Pete but Ryan should have been back to reassure Cyril. Try and convince a Hack he had to go back to the office? But if he weren't there, it would only cause him trouble. He just hoped Miguel wasn't in the 'Hole' already, not wanting to think anything worse. It would be the five o'clock Count soon and they would have to get back for that.

"Where's Ryan? Ryan should be back." No one answered him. "Where's Ryan?"

"Cyril? Do you want to play a game of cards with me?"

"Okay." They all looked at Bob with gratitude and Beecher settled down to wait. There was nothing else he could do.

"Count!"

Lining up, Beecher really began to panic at the empty space beside him but that was nothing compared to Cyril. Going down the line, calling out numbers, the Hack called, "Where the Hell's Alvarez?"

There was laughter. "Hey, Brusmalis? You been diggin' another tunnel?" called across the way, causing the man to fidget.

"O'Riely's missing too!" So the Hacks didn't know either. At least he wasn't in the 'Hole' or worse for Miguel, isolation, but where the fuck was he?

A phone rang up at the guard's station and the whole assemblage turned to look. "It's okay," the answering Guard shouted out, "Count's complete."

Shit. Shit. Shit! What the Hell? He desperately schooled his face as at least a dozen, if not more, pairs of eyes turned to him. Dismissed, he went into the Pod, Bob and Agamemnon moving to get Cyril before the Hacks really lost their tempers with him, but they were swiftly herded away for Lockdown. He just stood staring. He couldn't go ask. Some malicious prick was sure to let him know soon.

Now he prayed that Miguel was safe in the 'Hole'. But all he could do was wait.

He moved to his footlocker to get his book but doubted that he'd be able to read. He didn't think he would be able to concentrate, to keep the worry away. Opening the metal box, he saw another page of, yes it was, 'The Cat in the Hat'.

Not wanting to, he picked it up and stared in horror as Miguel's Kerchief fell to the floor. Kneeling to retrieve it, he felt the fabric stiff. He looked closer. Dried blood and what looked like... Oh My God! He bent over clutching it to his chest.

"Tobias?"

He hadn't heard anyone come in. Spinning around, he was about to tell whomever to fuck off. Father Ray stood looking at him, his face full of sympathy and sadness. Beecher stood motionless looking at the cloth in his hands.

'Damn', thought Ray 'I should have come earlier, made it before Count', but he hadn't wanted to leave Miguel.

"He's dead then," voice cold, not even a question.

"No. Oh no, Tobias." Beecher looked hopeful. Ray could have cried at that expression but he had to remain strong now if only for the anguish facing him. "Miguel's in the hospital ward. He _is_ going to be okay!"

Relief flooded Beecher's face. "Wha...?"

"They were found about an hour ago. They've been attacked." He couldn't tell him all of it, Miguel had made him swear not to, but no doubt it would only be a matter of time.

"They?"

"Ryan O'Riely." But then Beecher had already known that. "Ryan's been stabbed, and he's got a concussion. Pete's gone to fetch Cyril."

"And Miguel?" so quietly.

"He's been beaten and..."

"And what?" Ray could see the anger building, the voice was ice.

"Tobias. He will be alright!" but was far from sure that that could be true. Not after what had been done to him. "He's been cut. His thigh.." he took a steadying breath "and he has a large gash across his left cheek." There had been so much blood.

Beecher tottered, sat down hard on the bunk. It would be empty tonight. He stared at the bloodied cloth.

Ray had noted it straight away. There was a lot going on here and of course Alvarez had said nothing of who had done this and O'Riely was unable. Ray would lay money down that Beecher already knew.

"Guess seeing him is out the question?"

"I'm afraid so. And he doesn't want you to. Not yet," he added as Beecher looked up. "Besides, he's asleep now. Sedated." Then he just stood there helpless, watching as Beecher sat twisting the fabric in his hands. He didn't know what else to say to the man before him.

Beecher had been through so much pain, physical and emotional and Ray was worried that soon he would not be able to take anymore. Some now he had to help him, and Miguel of course, anyway he could. Even though Miguel had turned from him, he still sometimes felt he'd been sent here to help him more so than any of the others. He still felt an attachment but he had more than less failed.

This man, seeing something far from this room, had done much more than anyone else to reach Miguel and had been able to help him. Ray was not exactly sure how. He was far from naive not to realise that they were physically involved but he was sure it was more than that. Beecher had been able somehow to reach the Latino in a way he never could.

Ray quickly buried his futile feelings of jealousy and asked, "Tobias. What can I do for you?"

"Nada!" Beecher laughed disdainfully, whether at Mukado or himself, he had no idea. "Just leave."

"Tobias?"

"Leave!"

So, feeling completely useless, the Priest did.

==000==

TBC...


	21. Chapter 21

==000==

The next morning, Beecher sat on the edge of his bunk, still holding the fabric. He'd not slept but intermittently paced, cursed and silently cried. He now spoke to the absent Miguel once more. 'You did it didn't you?' Sat thinking, 'you went after Robson. You stupid little...' there was a knocking at the Pod door.

Looking up dully, he saw Said waiting. He nodded then dropped his head.

Said entered moving to sit next to him, not saying a word. He'd come in case Beecher needed to talk but obviously he didn't so he took the cloth from his friend's lax hands as he started to cry quietly.

After a while, bending, he picked up the folded paper from the floor as Beecher slowly regained his composure. "I take it you know who sent this?"

Beecher scrubbed at his face, "Yes," was all he said.

"Please my friend, tell me, you won't do anything 'rash'."

Beecher moved to the sink and, washing his face, looked at his dripping reflection. He'd told Miguel much the same thing but how could he take that advice now?

"What good will it do Alvarez when he returns and you are not here?"

"And why wouldn't 'I' be here?"

"If you try for revenge, where could it lead? Do you want him to return to find that you're either in the hospital yourself or in..."

"I won't be!"

"No, you could be in isolation or not here at all! You need to be here for him."

Beecher turned, leaned against the sink and gazed at the calm man. Aware that Said certainly did not approve of his relationships, being against the tenants of his faith and personal opinions, he was still here as he'd been before, his friend, with support and an ability to make him cut through all the 'rashness' of impulsive behaviour and come back to who he truly was.

"Can't even get to see him. Tell him I do."

"You do what?"

But the man just shook his head. If Beecher didn't want to tell him then that was purely his business, he would not push. "Send him a message," Said suggested, "I'm sure Brusmalis would be willing to take it for you."

"There's nothing I would say that could go through other ears."

"Then send him something." Beecher took back the soiled Bandanna, running it through his hands. "I do not think he would want that!"

"Of course not! Gotta use the phone." And with that, Beecher screwed the fabric up, stuffing it into a pocket and practically ran from the Pod.

Unsure what to do with the page in his hand, Said slowly refolded it and exiting the Pod also, took it with him.

==000==

It was a ragged looking Beecher who entered the visiting room, moving sluggishly to be embraced by his father the following afternoon. The Pod had been so empty and quiet. He'd not managed more than an hour's sleep if that and the lunch he had forced down on finally braving the canteen hadn't remained within him long.

He'd caused trepidation amongst his few friends on seeing him pass Robson and grin maniacally down at the man. It was not exactly the reaction Robson had anticipated, certainly not what he'd been waiting for. Nothing else could be done, as there seemed to be a fair few Hacks hanging around wherever the two men were.

So, tired, hungry and close to tears on seeing the concern on his father's face, he sat across and smiled at him.

"I did not know what you would want so I bought a couple," and pulling them from a paper bag, placed two bright Kerchiefs onto the table. Toby immediately picked up the blue and white one and was pleased to note it had a slightly different design to the one 'heavy' in his pocket. Alvarez would know it was not the 'lost' one. "Why did you want it? It's not really your style," asked his father curious.

How to explain? The man I care about has been hurt, has been...he swallowed hard… and I have to tell him of all things that I forgive him for what he tried to do. He remembered the reactions of his parents when they found out he'd been intimate with Chris but after they'd all been through so much, he could not be anything but honest now. "The man I love," he stopped. It was the first time he'd spoken the thought, in fact the first time he'd thought it.

He already knew he cared a great deal about Miguel, but love? He hadn't thought it possible again after Chris, still Chris, but yes, he did. He loved Miguel. It was suddenly obvious. He started again taking a settling breath, "The man I love has been hurt. He's in the Hospital ward and I just wanted to send him something, as I'm not allowed to go see him. With this he will know." He was talking to himself more than his father and looked up at the hand covering his own.

"But, Toby. I thought," he could hardly bring himself to say the man's name, "that Keller was gone. That he had been moved to another prison?"

Beecher smiled sadly. His father would never be able to truly understand but was doing his best to be supportive. It was all he felt he could do for his son. Still trying to get him out he had been blocked at every turn. "Not Chris. Someone else."

The hand disappeared a moment then returned holding harder. "Oh, Tobias."

He looked into his father's eyes. It had all been said in the sounding of his name. Trying to appear 'chirpy', "What's he," a change, "Who is he?"

Beecher knew his father wanted to say, what's he done, what's he done to you, but didn't want to appear disapproving, disappointed. "Dad. He is so different," no need to add from who, "Gentle." Not exactly true but didn't think his father needed to know all that, he added, "To me. And he needed me. Can you imagine what it's like in this place for someone to actually need me, to show me that? He trusts me and I..." he changed what he was going to say, "Dad. He can make me smile with just a look. Make me feel so wanted, needed...happy!"

Tobias seemed to be begging him to understand but that was all his father needed to hear. Someone could make his son happy inside this hell he would have to leave him in. Harrison smiled. "What's his name?"

Smiling also, Beecher answered, affection clear in his voice, "Miguel. Miguel Alvarez." His father looked a bit shocked at that but he didn't notice, he was looking off, seeing Miguel.

"What has happened to him, Toby?" and saw the smile leave his son's face. He shouldn't have asked.

Beecher ran a hand through his hair glancing around. There were a few others in here involved with their own but someone could always be listening. He leant in closer, there was something his father deserved to know and maybe he would soften to Alvarez without even meeting him.

"He did something for me, for us, that I could _not_ do," raising his eyebrows, making sure his father understood. He'd already had to reassure his parents that he'd not become a murderer after they had learnt of the death of the man responsible for Gary. He was not completely sure just how much his parents had worked out about all that had gone on with Shillinger but could see from his father's eyes that he understood what Alvarez had done.

"And in revenge, the others...hurt him. They beat him. Cut his face and they...and they.." he couldn't say it but his father heard the choking up, saw the eyes fill. He stood, moving around the table and drew Tobias up to enfold him in his arms.

He was relieved when Toby began to weep quietly onto his shoulder. Relieved that his son could cry once more, even if only for another man, a prisoner. Tobias had been so cold this last year only showing any joy when they brought Holly to see him. With her, he was more like he used to be. Was it possible his son was returning from that hard hearted cold man he had been forced to become? He prayed it could be so.

Breaking from his father, Beecher hid the fact that he cried and retaking their seats, he just watched the face that meant home to him. "Thank you. I know it's hard for you to understand."

"No, Tobias. It doesn't matter." He smiled. "All I need to know is that this man, Miguel you said? can make you smile."

Beecher did, asking, "Did you bring the other thing?"

"Yes, Son," reaching into the brown paper sack and pulling out about a dozen lollypops of differing colours. Beecher laughed fondly. "He has a sweet tooth," and wanted to cry again. He was really going to have to get a grip on himself. He had a lot to do. He looked up worried "You are still bringing Holly on Saturday?"

"Of course and oh, she did you this," and pulled out a rolled piece of paper, emptying the bag. It was a picture of them all. All that was left. Tobias covered his eyes with a hand. "I think that is supposed to be Me," his father smiled whilst pointing to a very round figure, trying to distract Toby.

"Tell her, Thank you and that I love her. Will you bring Harry soon as well?" even though his remaining son didn't even know him.

"Yes." His father smiled once more and grasped his hand.

==000==

TBC…


	22. Chapter 22

==000==

Waking up slowly and seeing it light, Alvarez thought of the groggy smile he would receive when he shook Beecher awake. He knew Toby was often already awake but loved that he always waited for him before he made to rise.

A sharp noise intruded and, trying to rise, he felt the dull ache that was his body. Relaxing back down, he opened his eyes fully and focused, seeing Cyril O'Riely asleep in the bed next to him. He was confused but then he remembered.

Groaning, he pushed his face into the pillow, imagining how Toby must be waking without him for the second or was it third day running. Slipping in and out of the drug-induced sleep they'd given him, it was all he'd done. Think of Beecher. It helped to keep the recurring images at bay. While he was awake that is.

There was a soft calling of his name, his only response to move his left hand up to cover his face. He wanted to turn away from the annoyances but could feel the tightness pulling on his left cheek. A gentle but insistent hand on his arm and he peered up at Father Ray.

"Miguel, will you talk to me?"

He just continued to look. Ray crouched down to be on a level with his face. "Tell me what happened. Who did this to you?" No response. The only time Alvarez had spoken to him had been when he was first called to the ward and he'd made him swear he wouldn't tell Beecher what the Doctors had just discovered. He had been back each day but Miguel had always been asleep or appeared to be.

Now he was determined that the man would speak with him. "I'm not going to leave until you answer me. I've spoken to Tobias." He saw the eyes move between the fingers so at least he was being listened to. "He wants to come see you."

"No," low gravely but a response.

"Why not?" even knowing it was highly unlikely the man would be allowed.

"No."

"He's concerned about you. Wants to know what's happened to you."

The hand shot out startling Ray, grabbing his fleece. "He mustn't know!"

Ray guessed it not wise to tell Miguel that he thought Beecher already did.

"Why not, Miguel? He wants to help." True but Ray wanted to know for himself too. "We can get the ones responsible. Not just for what they did to you but for Ryan O'Riely too."

Miguel let him go, the hand back covering his face. "No."

"Please, Miguel, why?" All he got was what sounded like 'hurt him'. Then could get nothing more. Alvarez was ignoring him. "If you change your mind and want to talk, to let me help, just let me know."

Then he left him, moving to stand between the beds holding the O'Riely brothers. Maybe he could get some information from Ryan but, still asleep, he didn't want to disturb him. They all had a pretty good idea who had attacked the pair but without their co-operation they could do nothing.

Why would these men never trust the people in charge of the place to help them? Always wanting to deal with all the bad stuff that happened themselves and it just got worse. Payback upon payback.

He left, glancing once more at Miguel and headed out to see Sister Peter Marie. Maybe she would have more luck.

==000==

Father Ray ran into the Nun already on her way to see Alvarez. "What's that?" pointing to what she held, a wasted question, he recognised it.

Pete smiled, "A present from Tobias." She sighed tiredly. "I've just spent the last half hour reassuring him and trying to get him to tell me what he knows. Of course he won't say but I know he knows more about what happened than we do." Raising and dropping her shoulders she admitted, "although I'm not sure how."

Ray smiled. "We all know who did this but until someone talks?" also shrugging his shoulders.

"So, Miguel still won't talk to you?"

He spoke sadly, "About four words. Pete what did I do that was so wrong? That he should cut me out so completely?"

She patted his shoulder. "I just don't know, Ray," and passing him, carried on her way.

=0=

"Miguel?"

Why couldn't they all just leave him alone? The only person he wanted to see he couldn't. Not only would they not let him come, Alvarez didn't want Toby to see him like this. He was scared that once he did Robson's plan would work and he wouldn't want him anymore.

"Miguel. It's Pete." He curled up slightly. She saw the wince, "Do you need more painkillers?"

She thought he mumbled something but, unsure, she crouched down and pulled the hand gently from his face and held onto it. Speaking very quietly, close to his face, "I've just seen Tobias." Finally he opened his eyes to look at her.

Her original plan had been for the two men to just find a bit of companionship and maybe help each other. As she'd noticed them growing closer, knew that they had become 'involved' she had been silently glad. Both men seemed happier, something which had seemed impossible and Alvarez had become almost a different person. He was definitely not the same man who she had discovered clinging to Beecher so hard in her office almost three months ago.

'But just look at him now', she thought, those eyes peering up from the pillow desperately waiting for news of the other man. "Now listen to me, Miguel. Tobias will not tell me who did this to you but I am sure he knows. I need you to tell me so we can put an end to it."

She stared into his eyes, her own pleading with him. "Yes, I think I know what's been going on. Was this in revenge? Was it the Aryan Brotherhood because they think you and Tobias had something to do with Vern Shillinger's death?" He just watched her.

"Miguel. I know you think that we, Glynn, McManus," a pause then, " Father Ra…." no response, "don't realise what goes on in this place. We're not as stupid as people seem to think but without your help, we are useless to do anything. Please. Let us help you."

"How's Beecher?" so quiet, so forlorn.

She sighed, "I won't lie to you." How should she phrase it? "Tobias is missing you." She smiled, "Waiting for you to leave here. He's putting up a good front but he's hurting." 'Oh, please don't cry', she thought, 'you'll set me off'. "He's angry. I'm worried he might do something. So help me. Tell me who did this before he gets into more trouble."

But of course he would not but she had to try. Her knees wouldn't take this anymore so she stood groaning.

"Don't leave!"

Oh, it tugged at her heart. "I'm not leaving," patting his shoulder, smiling down. Then looking around, she beckoned a guard, "Would you pass me that chair? Thank you," ignoring the look on the disgruntled man's face. She sat close to him. How many times had she visited this man in here? Why did she keep having to return? Now he would have two new scars not to mention all the ones inside his soul.

She held his hand, "What is it?" Alvarez just shook his head slightly. "Do you want to send Tobias a message?" He opened his mouth then shook his head again closing his eyes. "He sent you one." That look in the now wide eyes. Somehow she had to get permission for Beecher to visit.

Miguel tried to rise up, to turn over. Pete helped him until he ended on his side instead of his stomach, propped up on pillows. "What? What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything."

"But you just said…" getting anxious that she had lied to him.

"Hush, Miguel," stroking his face. "He sent you something. Said you would understand," and she gave him the lollypop.

He took it from her with trembling fingers. As if not wanting to, he slowly pulled off the small piece of paper that was folded and held by the stick. Pete watched as he closed his eyes, plucking up the courage then opened the note and read. A sob and holding it tight, he put it to his lips and smiled.

Pete was relieved. Whatever it said had taken some of the anguish out of his eyes as he looked up thankfully at her. She was so curious but shouldn't ask so instead, "He also sent you this!"

Miguel didn't look quite so happy to receive the second gift. "Don't you like it? He sent his father shopping for this." He looked at the fabric in puzzlement, then hesitantly fingering the cloth, realised it was new, a different patterning to the one he'd had taken from him. "He did send a message with this. I don't understand it but guess you will."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she laughed, patting his arm. "His exact words were, 'When you get back to me, you'll need it.'"

Alvarez clutched the blue and white fabric to his chest, curled up and wept quietly. Pete was confused. Then again she was used to it. A lot of her patients took a very long time to figure out.

So Toby forgave him. He had answered the note he'd left with three words, just the same, 'Miguel. No need.' And he still wanted him but then, he didn't know. All Beecher knew was that he'd been attacked. Would he still feel the same when he found out? He hoped that he would never know but how many secrets ever really got kept in here?

Someone always found out and then it would spread. Not only was Beecher going to find out but so was every other person in the prison. Only Beecher mattered though and he had to keep it from him as long as he could. Once Beecher found out, he not only feared that he would no longer want him but Robson would have won.

Sister Pete waited for the tears to end and as they did, Miguel's fingers started fumbling with the lollypop, trying to get the plastic wrapper off. Gently, she took it from him and under close scrutiny, managed where he had failed. Getting it back, Alvarez immediately put it in his mouth, closed his eyes then sank down wincing slightly and ignored her.

Rising, knowing she was finished here, she turned to look at Cyril O'Riely who in turn was watching his brother. Carrying the chair, she moved to between the beds holding the brothers and sat stroking Cyril's hair from his face as they waited for Ryan to awaken.

The staff wanted the blond man out of the ward because, as usual, they were running short of beds. Where, she thought, could they put him without him becoming hysterical again being separated from his brother? Ryan would be here at least another couple of weeks as the stab wound was deep while his hard head had saved him from serious damage unlike his brother. Unless? No, but if they insisted Cyril should leave she would bear it in mind.

"Ryan?" and she was brought back to the present as Cyril struggled to get out of the bed past her as his brother's eyes slowly opened.

"No, Cyril. Be careful!" she warned as Ryan was about to be engulfed. She gave him the chair and held his shoulders, standing behind and he sat close. Eagerly he asked, "Ryan?"

"It's alright bro'" and slowly reaching up, Ryan pulled Cyril's head down onto his chest. Before she could ask anything Ryan was asleep once more. She must get back; she had been sat silently with Cyril for over twenty minutes.

Turning to leave, she heard her name called softly. Smiling down, asked, "What is it Miguel?"

"Will... will you give him this?"

Taking the stick, "Of course," then patting his hand, left.

==000==

TBC...


	23. Chapter 23

==000==

Beecher was still fuming as he turned up for his afternoon stint at the computer. He'd gotten so close. In the pushing and shoving at lunch that had followed the taunts, he had taken the chance and so nearly managed to get his blade into Robson's belly but the Hacks rushing in had saved the Bastard.

Screaming vulgarities at him, it was Robson who was dragged away and Beecher pushed to the wall having dropped the blade. It had looked like Robson was the aggressor, taunting him, pushing at him. That's why he'd gone for it. Staring at each other as the man and a couple of his cronies were dragged away, both looks spoke death. So close.

Beecher was shoved into the office as Pete looked up in surprise. "Calm down. Or we _will_ send you to the 'Hole' as well!" He just stared the Hack down, adjusting his clothes from the handling, too angry to appreciate that somehow he'd avoided the filthy punishment room.

"Tobias? What's happened?" Getting up and coming around her desk.

"Nothing," and he turned his back on the concerned woman, switching on the computer.

She rocked a moment then thought of the stick in her pocket. Hopefully it would calm him down. "Tobias," moving towards him, "someone sent you this," and held up the stick.

Beecher turned around, not really interested, but then laying eyes on the stick, reached up taking it and smiled sadly then laughed. That such a simple thing, a tube of tightly rolled paper could cause such a change in his mood was amazing to her but then it wasn't the stick, she knew that. What it represented was not such a simple thing.

He sat playing with it, a smile on his lips. "Tobias, I need a favour from you."

'Here it comes', he thought, 'what now?' She'd done one for him so supposed she would expect something in return. Nothing was free anymore.

He said nothing but at least appeared to be listening to her. "They want Cyril O'Riely out of the Hospital ward and I was wondering..."

"No!"

"Please, Tobias. I don't want him to be alone in his Pod. I don't think he will cope." She waited.

"No. Don't ask me."

She wandered around the room, hands clasped in front of her. "It's with you or the only other place is the Psyche ward and he's had far too many tranquillisers forced into him already!" Silence. She wondered if bribery would work. She really wanted his co-operation, as it would do neither of them any good if Cyril was forced onto him. "If you do this for me...I could do something for you."

"And what could you possibly do for me?" full of cynicism and bile.

She turned to look at him, pursing her lips. She may have his attention but he was looking coldly at her. "I could get you in to visit Miguel. Say, half an hour everyday till he's released from the ward?"

He looked so tempted but then dropped his head. "I thought he didn't want to see me."

"Oh, Tobias, that's not true. I think he's just frightened of what you will think when you do see him."

He looked up confused, "Why?"

"You know as well as I do it's his face." She knew it was much more as Miguel still believed Beecher didn't know about the rape. She was sure he already did but it was not her place to tell either of that. "You know he's still quite vain about his looks and now he has another cut. It didn't do any permanent damage but it will scar."

Beecher went back to watching his hands play with the stick, touching the frayed end where Miguel's lips had been. "An hour!"

"Tobias I don't..."

"An hour a day for every night I have to put with Cyril O'Riely!" He would actually put up with Cyril for five minutes with Miguel but she didn't need to know that.

"I'll see what I can arrange," and left, heading back to the Hospital once more.

Now she had to get Ryan to convince Cyril he would be all right with Beecher. He would no doubt prefer to sleep in a chair next to his brother but Pete had been told on last leaving the ward that Cyril had to go. The staff would just have to accommodate a visitor instead.

Then a trip to the Warden's office as she still needed Leo's permission but was confident, especially if presented as a fate 'acomplee'. She had a busy afternoon.

=0=

"That's the only way I will agree and that's final!"

So leaving Glynn, she headed back once more to the ward. This she'd not foreseen and it would be the hardest part.

"Miguel?" Still on his side, he looked tiredly at her. Bending very close to his ear, she confided, "I need your help."

"Leave me alone."

"I can't do that." She explained about Cyril, what she intended to do and what the condition was. His eyes lit up at the chance of seeing Beecher but then closed. "No. He can't see me!"

"Miguel let him. He wants to."

"No...o!" anguished.

A pause and she tried again. "If you don't let him, you'll be hurting him." A sob. "Miguel. Please. Why don't you want him to come? I know what you two mean to each other."

How could she? How could she possibly understand what having Toby want him meant to him?

"Are you scared he won't want you anymore?" She was a psychiatrist after all and had had plenty of experience, her intuition often proving true. Alvarez covered his face wanting to hide from the woman. "Because he does." Miguel touched the side of his face, felt the gauze and wanted to believe. She grabbed hold of the hand, held it tight. "He does _not_ care about the scars. I know," she said shaking his hand in emphasis, "He told me that!"

Alvarez looked up at her hopeful but then his eyes dropped away, "He won't when he finds out, when he knows what..." trailing off into silence. He was ruined for Beecher, had been spoilt for him.

"Miguel, I think he may already know." She spoke softly, carefully.

Alarmed, his eyes went wide. "You didn't tell him? No please, you didn't tell him."

"No, I didn't tell him, none of us did. It's just a feeling. I think he knows."

"But ...you don't know for sure?"

"No, I don't." Maybe she shouldn't have said anything but she didn't believe in sugar-coating the truth or hiding it, besides she was running out of argument. "Tobias is worried sick about you. He wants to see you. You have to let him. Give him the chance to decide. You can't do it for him! Miguel, give him the chance. Let him come see you. Please."

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard. He so wanted to see Toby, wanted to touch him, for the hands holding his so tightly to be his but he was scared. The longer he could leave it before Toby found out what Robson and the others had done to him the longer he had the hope that Beecher might still want him, desire him. This was agony.

Sister Pete was rubbing his hand, "Give Tobias the chance." Eyes still closed he bit his lower lip then nodded. "So you will speak to Glynn?"

Another nod, "But not here. In private. No one must see." It was so long ago, all who he knew involved gone but he didn't need anyone knowing he spoke with the Warden about anything. Pete patted his hand once more and left before he changed his mind.

=0=

Cyril O'Riely did not prove to be as much hassle as Beecher had imagined he'd be. Whatever the Nun or Ryan had told him must have impressed something on him. He'd stayed close to Beecher since Sister Pete had brought him back to Em City, had hardly spoken and did everything he was told.

He had been warned about Cyril's nightmares but thanks to the pills he was given by a visiting nurse just before lights out, if he was terrorised in his sleep, he made little noise about it and they didn't wake him.

Toby managed to sleep fitfully in expectation of seeing Alvarez. He was excited and nervous and came to realise that once more he was caught. No matter Miguel's still strange views on their relationship, Beecher knew that he was now just as dependent on Miguel for his well being.

It was going to be hard. Miguel's reticence at seeing him spoke of a new worry in the man's mind. Somehow he knew that Alvarez was scared that he wouldn't want him anymore now he'd been 'touched' by someone else but he did.

Alvarez would need him now more than ever and Toby determined that he would do anything to make him know he was here for him.

=0=

Just when was Beecher going to come see him? He'd been waiting all day since sitting in a wheel chair for his meeting with Glynn. Still reluctant, he had spoken quietly to the man, told him all he knew about the attack on his daughter, what he needed to know. Alvarez watched as he slowly moved away. The tired looking man hadn't said anything, just stood up and left. Miguel supposed he couldn't blame him.

Then he'd been taken back to be washed and his dressings changed. He'd gotten Brusmalis to shave him, putting up with the inane chatter as the older man tried to 'cheer him up' as he had for the last three days. Alvarez had pretended to sleep but had been listening to the gossip whenever he spoke to him so he'd been kept abreast of all that was happening in the prison.

Obviously though, Brusmalis had decided though that he didn't need to know anything about himself or Beecher other than the man had been involved in a scuffle that had Robson in the 'Hole'.

But Beecher was all he wanted to know about. He'd started fidgeting as the morning wore on and, trying to push himself up to sitting, called out involuntarily as the stitches in his thigh ripped. So with fresh pain adding to the soreness he felt every time he moved, he was back on his side, briefly grateful for about a second that both new cuts were on the same side.

When the hell was Beecher coming? Pete had assured that him he could as Glynn had agreed.

As the hours stretched he became convinced that Beecher did not want to come. He was facing away from the door and every new set of footsteps brought hope, dashed. It didn't help that Ryan, now awake two beds down from him, wouldn't even look at him, let alone speak. Beecher was not going to come. He slid down in the bed and covered his face.

Tobias Beecher stood looking down at the sleeping Alvarez. His presence was causing a good deal of interest but he ignored it. He'd glanced at O'Riely who just sneered at him then turned away.

He'd been waiting all day, constantly asking Brusmalis the same question every time he saw him, 'How is he?' Brusmalis didn't seem to know what to say to him, his answers not very forthcoming, 'oh, he's fine' or, 'still sleeping.' It was as if he was nervous to tell him the truth.

He looked around and, picking up a chair, placed it quietly before the sleeping man, sat down and waited, hoping that Miguel would awaken. He didn't have the heart to disturb him, he needed to rest, to recover. He wanted him back and the sooner. He gazed down at the man that had him caught. He couldn't see much, just the top of his head really as the sheet was pulled up and a hand was covering his face.

Alvarez was not sleeping. He watched Beecher through his fingers, hardly daring to breath. There he was, sat so patiently, staring down at him. There was a crash as someone was wheeled in groaning then taken through to the next room.

Gazing back down after the commotion had passed, Beecher saw that Alvarez had not moved. He smiled. Leaning forwards, he picked up the sheet and slowly pulled it back, uncovering his lover's shoulders. Still no movement. He spoke into his ear, "I know you're awake," and sat back smiling.

Alvarez' hand slowly moved from over his eyes but stayed covering the gauze on the stitches. Beecher reached out again and took hold and pulled the hand away to be held between his own. A tap from a baton on his shoulder and, on looking up, resignedly placed Miguel's hand on the bed and folded his arms. The Hack moving off, he smiled, leaning forwards once more.

Wincing, Alvarez raised himself up on his elbow but wouldn't look at him. "Has anyone told you when you'll get out of here?" A shake of the head, his hand picking at the bed sheet. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" A bite to the lower lip, a shake of the head. "Is there anything you want me to do for you?" A nod. "Will you look at me as you tell me?" He smiled as Miguel nodded but didn't look at him and didn't say anything. So he waited.

Slowly Alvarez began to look at him, quick fleeting glances and then finally his eyes settled on his face. He was about to speak, stopped and, as if it would take all his strength, lay back down on the pillow. He dropped his eyes as he spoke "Tob...Beecher?"

"Toby,"

"Toby, please.." eyes flitting up then back down, "please don't do anything..." He didn't know how to say it. He wanted to say brave and noble but it didn't sound right especially coming from him, he didn't talk like that.

Beecher smiled, "You asking me not to do anything 'rash'?" he quoted Said.

Miguel nodded, picking more aggressively at the bottom sheet, his hand slowly moving it's way towards Beecher. "Don't get hurt because of me," and he closed his eyes.

Beecher leaned in close. "I want you back and I am going to be there when you do come back."

It would have to do. He'd not actually promised him that he wouldn't do something 'heroic' in retaliation but as long as he was there waiting. That's all that counted. But would he still mean it when he knew? He couldn't bring himself to ask that, to tell him.

Beecher then asked the most stupid question he ever had, knew it as the words left his mouth. "Does it hurt?" There were so many better ways he could have chosen to find out how Miguel really was. "I mean are you okay? No. I mean… Oh shit, Miguel, I'm sorry."

It actually made Alvarez smile slightly. Toby was as nervous as he was. He reached out, touched his knee and Toby caught his hand, holding it tight. Alvarez was finally looking at him.

Movement from the corner of his eye as the Hack moved towards them. Damned if he was going to let go this time. The Hack looked at their joined hands but sighing, shaking his head 'what the hell', he carried on patrolling.

Beecher returned his attention to the man holding onto him so tightly. They just sat like that, watching each other until Beecher was told to leave.

Standing reluctantly, he let go of the hand and ran the back of his fingers down Miguel's cheek below the gauze, speaking to those wide staring eyes, "See you tomorrow."

"Not if you do that again," the Hack as he beckoned him away.

"Hey, Beecher." He turned to look back at O'Riely. "How's Cyril doin?"

"Don't worry," he replied, "I won't let _him_ get hurt!" and walked out ignoring the 'Bastard' called to his back.

==000==

TBC...


	24. Chapter 24

After the same question repeated all day, Beecher asked Sister Pete to get permission for Cyril to go with him and on entering the Hospital ward, he practically ran over to Ryan. Beecher moved more slowly to Alvarez who had finally managed to cope on his own with turning and now lay back propped up on pillows. He just stood at the bottom of the bed and took in the view with an appreciative smile.

Alvarez had spent the last ten minutes, expecting him to arrive at the same time as before, fiddling with the sheet covering him and letting his gown slip down his arms. He knew exactly what he was doing. If he could give Beecher something else to look at, maybe he wouldn't keep looking at his cheek. Obviously trying not to the evening before, his eyes had nether the less strayed frequently to the gauze. Now the covering was missing, as the staff had removed the twine stitches and replaced them with butterfly ones, he felt every one of them as seven reasons why Toby might turn from him.

Beecher looked around but Cyril had taken the only empty chair he could see and there were a couple of empty beds. So Pete had played him again. He took the chance and perched on the side of Miguel's bed but Alvarez winced as the bed dipped and Beecher shot back up.

"No," Alvarez said raising a hand.

Toby smiled then hankered down by Miguel's chest. "You look..." his eyes travelled up and down his bare chest then back to his face, "…better?" and grinned at him turning into a quiet laugh as the man gave all the appearances of blushing yet again. He loved it when Miguel did that but had never mentioned it. "So, what you been up to today?"

Miguel looked at him questioningly. He was in the Hospital ward, what could he have done?

His arms crossed leaning on the bed, Toby used his hidden hand to poke at Miguel's side under the man's arm. "Well? Cause the last time I was in here, I counted all the ceiling tiles over and over. You know what? There are three more if you just count with your left eye than if you use your right. I counted seventeen and a half lumps in my mattress. I also found out that somewhere between the kitchen and here, all the differing foodstuffs get 'mutated' into the same greyish white glop. Have you worked out yet which is the trolley with the squeaky wheel or why Nurse Donnelly's left stocking is always wrinkled?"

Alvarez just stared at him mesmerised. If he didn't know the man was just trying to cheer him he would have thought him mad.

"So?" Toby asked, "What you been up to today?" and looked to him expectantly.

Alvarez found he had to smile just a little. All he'd done really was think about Beecher, worry about Beecher and wait for Beecher. "I erm...I err..!" he wasn't sure how to play this game.

"Yeah? Really? I never did that." He started pushing at Miguel's side, one finger at a time poking in a quickening rhythm working his way down, hitting a spot where Miguel started to flinch. A mischievous grin appeared on his face as he looked up at Alvarez who was trying not to laugh. Beecher hadn't realised he was ticklish. "A-ha! You're in trouble now boy. Just wait till I get you back!"

The change in Alvarez' expression was instantaneous. He looked, away arms folded across his chest. Staring off, he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes from welling up. He didn't want Beecher to see him cry.

Shit. What had he said? Kneeling, he placed a hand gently on the tense arm closest to him and speaking softly for him alone, "What is it? Don't you want to come back to me?" He was beginning to worry now.

Miguel's hands went to his head, heals hard in his temples. Of course he did but he was scared.

"Miguel, please. What did I say wrong?" Alvarez started to rock slightly, his face screwed up. Beecher was at a loss. He'd decided to talk of nothing sensible, to just be bright and cheery. How had something as silly as threatening to tickle him cause this reaction? "Miguel. Look at me. Look. At. Me."

A retched sob but he did look at him. In horror, leaning back from him.

"If you are going to distress him, you will have to leave," a nurse standing over Alvarez at the far side stated.

"Do you want me to leave?" Tobias asked and he made to rise.

"No!" Alvarez hoarsely screamed, grabbing at him. The nurse tried to push him down but Miguel fought her and Beecher saw it a race between the Doctor and the Hack who got to him first. "Get your fuckin' hands off me!" The nurse jumping back as his arms began to frail.

The Doctor was there syringe ready in hand. "Hold him down!" and Beecher grabbed for him before the Hack could.

"Miguel. Stop It. Please!" But Alvarez was lost, gone in a haze of fear and despair. All he was aware of were the hands grabbing him, trying to hold him against his will. He had to fight as he could not before, he had to get away.

Grabbing for his arms not working, Beecher lay across Miguel's torso, forcing him down to the bed, speaking steadily into his ear that he was okay, he was safe here with him and to be still as the Doctor managed to get the tranquilliser into him.

Slowly Alvarez began to calm, the chemicals doing their job as he was still trapped in a different place. Before pulling back, before anyone would notice or stop him, Beecher placed a hard kiss to Miguel's left cheek just below the stitches but didn't think the younger man was aware as, mumbling something he could not make out, tears began leaking from his tightly screwed shut eyes.

Beecher stood, looking down as Miguel stilled, his arms languidly continuing to fight. The Doctor ordered, "Nurse. Check his stitches. If he's opened them again, he gets strapped down!" and moved away.

Beecher didn't move, conscious of the Hack at his side. He didn't want to be made to leave. He couldn't, not until he knew that Miguel had settled and not just due to the drugs. Things calming down, the guard moved off doing the rounds but all attention had been on Alvarez, the boredom of convalescence making the slightest thing of interest, let alone a floorshow involving a man in manic rage.

Beecher knelt down once more as the nurse lifted the bed sheet and examined Alvarez' thigh then moved to check his cheek. Satisfied, she tucked the sheet in tight and issued a warning, "He's lucky this time. If you upset him again you're out of here and won't be back!" and left him with an 'I mean it' look.

Beecher worried where Alvarez was, what he was seeing as he now stared ahead. Certainly he was not seeing the ward. Checking that the Hack was not watching, he rested a hand on Miguel's now lax arm and with his left, began to gently play with the dark hair at the man's temple. He leaned closer but could think of nothing to say.

A couple of minutes and he couldn't take it anymore so, still stroking his hair, he turned Miguel's head towards him on the pillow by his jaw and ran the back of his fingers down the still cheek. No response so he ran his thumb along closed lips, once, twice and at last Alvarez blinked then returned to focus on him. His lips began to quiver as his face tensed up. "No, Miguel" stroking his face and speaking close, "Please, there's no need for tears. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." He cupped his jaw, running a thumb beneath the stitches.

Miguel tried to say something but nothing would pass his throat. "It's okay. It doesn't matter," he was assured. A tear left the man's anguished eyes. He had to tell Toby that it did matter. Had to tell him that he was so sorry. He should have done as Toby had told him, should never have gone after Robson. He'd been such a fool and now he was so tired he could feel himself drifting. He had to rise up but his body would not respond, he was fighting the drugs in his system but once more losing the battle.

Beecher stroked his forehead and letting go of the jaw, ran his hand onto Miguel's neck, leaning his arm across his chest. He could tell the man was struggling to stay awake. "It's okay. Go to sleep. I'll watch over you." He wanted him to sleep as it was only a matter of time until the Hack watching decided it was enough. "I'll be back tomorrow and in a couple of days you'll be out of here. Back with me. Sleep now," and watched as Alvarez gave up and allowed his eyes to close.

Beecher risked. He bent, kissed him lightly then drew back unconcerned that others should see such a sign of affection from him. It was no secret anymore. Miguel licked his lips then was asleep.

He let him go and stood up, gazing down until, "Time to go." The Officer didn't look pleased with him but what the hell? He didn't care. Collecting a reluctant Cyril who insisted on looking back at his brother all the way out forcing Beecher to slowly pull and guide him away, they left for another night, both missing the only things that mattered to them in here, missing their men.

==000==

TBC…


	25. Chapter 25

Having spent a quiet morning with Cyril watching the television and then convincing his neighbours to keep him with them, Beecher spent a wonderful afternoon with his daughter. He was amazed at her resilience. All Holly seemed concerned with was that she was here with her father and her father was here to play with her. The games didn't matter. They were together.

Alvarez spent the day speaking to no one and ignoring any who tried to intrude into his thoughts. Having woken during the night, he half expected Toby to be looking in at him and was disappointed that he hadn't dropped down to him. Hearing the night noises of several people, he remembered where he was and why.

Then he found he couldn't go back to sleep so tried filling his mind with pleasant images but every time he thought of Toby touching him, his face changed into Robson, seeing again and again, the look on the man's face as he forced that prick into his mouth. Miguel had curled up tightly and waited for the lights to be switched on. At least then he would have something besides repulsive visions in his mind to look at.

During the morning he'd been allowed to sit up on the edge of the bed then dressed in a hospital gown, had taken a few steps. He was stiff but knew his body was healing. He would be let out soon. He could go back to Em City, back to Beecher's Pod but before he did, he needed to know that he was still truly wanted.

So he spent a long afternoon going over and over how he could broach the subject and tell Toby all that had been done to him. Sister Pete was right. It was Beecher's choice. It always had been. So when Beecher arrived, he found Alvarez sat in a chair waiting for him but looking decidedly on edge.

Toby sat on the side of his bed and poked at his shoulder. He was in a relaxed mood. Sad at having to say goodbye to his daughter but happy at the time he'd gotten to spend with her. When Alvarez finally looked up at him, the expression said he was far from relaxed. He poked at the shoulder again smiling, "How you doing?"

Alvarez' head dropped as he shrugged. Toby looked at him sadly. Miguel had reverted to acting towards him as he had weeks ago. He longed to hold him, try to reassure him that he was going to be okay. He would survive this. He knew Alvarez had already been through so much and had come out the other side, if not entirely intact, never the less, he had survived. He could survive this. Beecher had and he hadn't had anyone he could rely on, to help him but Miguel did. If only he would let him.

"You want to come sit next to me?"

Another shrug. He so needed to talk to Toby but not here where others could hear and there was no where they would be allowed to go.

"Would you sit next to me if I told you I'd like you to?" Alvarez started picking at his fingers something he hadn't done for a few weeks now. Beecher reached down and closed his hand over them, stilling the motion. "Come on," he said standing, "I'll help you," and reaching down, waited until Miguel held on to his arms and slowly pulled himself up.

Relishing the opportunity, Miguel held on tightly as Beecher gently manoeuvred him onto the side of the bed. He could have managed it himself with no small effort but looking straight into those eyes, so blue, so bright, so close, he didn't want to release his hold but had to. Smiling Beecher stepped back from between his legs then sat carefully beside him, holding onto the mattress with both hands as if he too wanted nothing more than to keep hold of him.

The move having caused his thigh to hurt, Miguel pulled up the gown ensuring he remained covered and checked that he hadn't begun to bleed again. He hadn't but he felt a finger run along his exposed hip along his thigh. Quickly he dropped the gown, tucking it in around him.

"I'm sorry," quietly from beside him.

Shaking his head he quickly looked to Beecher then away. "No. Me. I'm so sorry, Toby," and he hugged himself.

Beecher leant in close, not wanting anyone to overhear, "You have nothing to be sorry for. This was not your fault!"

"But I shudda listened to you! I _am_ so sorry!"

Hush. It doesn't matter. You'll be okay now. You're here. With me. That's _all_ I care about! That is _all_ I want. Nothing more. Just you, here, sat next to me."

Alvarez covered his eyes with a hand. He so wanted to break down and fall into this man's arms once more but couldn't. Not here in front of an eager audience. Even though everyone who gave a damn seemed to know they were, had been 'intimate', Fucking, he didn't need to be on show. What was between them was for them alone! Or had been. For once it was Alvarez' hand that covered Beecher's, fingers entwined, holding on tightly, hoping no one would see the hands hidden between them.

"Miguel. I just want you back."

He slumped at the words, he so wanted to believe. His right hand dropped to his lap picking at the gown's hem. So low, half not wanting the man beside him to hear, "But you don't know. You don't know what he…what he did to me."

Beecher turned to him and used his left hand to push his head up to face him. "I know."

Alvarez pulled his head away, turning to stare at the wall. So close he could feel warm breath on his ear, "If you will let me, I want to be with you. I still want you."

The head slowly coming back to stare at Toby held eyes so full of hope.

Did Toby really mean it? Did he truly know what Robson had done to him and still want him? He desperately wanted to believe. Beecher's face moved closer. He longed to kiss him, kiss those lips he'd missed so much. His gazed dropped to Beecher's mouth and he lost focus as it moved towards him to kiss him. He turned his face away, down. Toby may know what had been done to him but he didn't know what he'd done.

"Oh, get a room!" Beecher looked up at the Hack stood in front of them, a different one than the day before. "But oh, I forgot. If you carry on like that, we've got one waiting for you." The comment brought jeers and vulgar comments from the beds around them and Beecher set his face hard, not only to cover his anger and resentment at the interference but also at the pain in his hand as it was gripped so hard. "Keep it clean!" and then the man moved off. "Shut the fuck up. The lot of you!" Sniggers then they all settled in for the next incident to break the monotony.

"Miguel. Please. My hand."

He didn't understand until looking down, Alvarez realised exactly how tight he was gripping him. He let go to wrap his arm tight over his waist as Beecher massaged the pain he'd caused away.

Damn it. Miguel had taken up that slight slow rocking again so Beecher shifted slightly as if his butt had gone numb from sitting and settled with his thigh against Miguel's, hoping the contact would tell him what words, he hazarded, would not at this point.

Alvarez froze. He did not dare to move. He was so conflicted knowing he had longed for Beecher's touch, to be able to feel him close but now he was uncomfortable. Here, in plain view, where nothing could happen they were safe, but once alone would they be? Now he worried that when, if Beecher came to take him, he would freeze up as he had now and that he would see either anger or worse, hurt on Toby's face at the rejection.

He would do nothing to prevent him from fucking him, that had never been an option and still wasn't. Toby had assured him he still wanted him but he was frightened that he would freak and that Robson would have gotten what he wanted after all.

He prayed Beecher would give him time as the man knew what it was like to have this done to him. Repeatedly. How long had it taken Toby to let someone touch him? To want to be touched? He'd seen with the rest what had happened between Beecher and Keller and wondered if not for the broken bones, would Beecher have let himself be touched much sooner? It had been at least a year and Alvarez had been attacked, he couldn't think the real term yet, only five days ago, not even a week.

Beecher couldn't help but feel the tenseness in Alvarez but remained where he was. If Alvarez chose to move away then that was okay. Not what he wanted but knew he needed to show plenty of patience. He mustn't push Miguel at all, in any way. He would give him as much time as he needed but had to let him know he was here, willingly, to do whatever he could, whatever he would let him.

It took a while but Alvarez slowly began to relax. They continued to sit side by side, each in his own thoughts as Beecher came to feel more and more of Miguel's weight against him as he leant on him.

Beecher had been listening to the O'Riely brothers, not catching it all but his name had caught his attention. Cyril had wanted to know why the men had been laughing at Beecher and Alvarez, why they were so mean to his friend. So Cyril considered him a friend? He had a touch of guilt as he hadn't exactly been nice to the damaged man, had barely tolerated him, only putting up with him so he could be sat here next to Miguel. He could not hear the reply as Ryan, looking at him, pulled Cyril close, speaking low but earnestly to him. He hoped he wasn't convincing Cyril of something that could cause trouble tonight.

Attention back on Alvarez, he looked to see him watching from the corner of his eye. He smiled at him. Alvarez relaxed his arms, hands in his but also went back to watching his fingers twist together. "Beecher?" whispered so quietly.

He was tempted to answer, 'Alvarez', but instead replied, "Yes?" equally quietly.

Alvarez took in a deep breath, let it out. "There's..." he swallowed "There's something I have to tell you."

"Yes?" he said into the pause and waited but whatever it was, he could tell Miguel really didn't want to say it. It wasn't that long until he would have to leave. "If you don't want to tell me now, wait till we're alone, out of here." Miguel looked anxious opening his mouth. "Anything can wait. Unless..." he'd had a worrying thought. "You're not trying to tell me you don't want to be alone with me are you?"

"No!" becoming agitated.

"No, you don't?" Beecher was anxious himself now. Alvarez looked at him, that pleading to understand in his eyes, so he smiled encouragingly.

"I...I want to come back to you if... if you … want me. If you mean it." His head dropped, his eyes tightly shut.

Beecher took his hand. "Miguel. I want you. Never doubt that. There something I have to tell you too."

"Time," the Hack announced moving towards Cyril. Quickly Beecher placed his mouth by Alvarez' ear. This was for Miguel alone. "I love you" and pulled back to look into wide startled eyes. He picked up a hand and as he stood and kissed the back of it, "Nothing, nothing else matters!" and he was made to leave with Miguel's eyes following him all the way out.

==000==

TBC…


	26. Chapter 26

Beecher had to put up with an extremely inquisitive Podmate that evening. Whatever Ryan had told him had obviously not answered Cyril's questions but had prompted more.

Again he wanted to know why all the men in the hospital ward had been so mean to him and Alvarez and, what he really wanted to know, why did Beecher like Alvarez so much. They weren't brothers like him and Ryan so why did he spend so much time with him? They were always together, he didn't see one without the other. Apart from when Alvarez came to see Ryan but that was always when Beecher had to go work with the nice Lady.

So Beecher found himself having to explain things in a way he hoped Cyril would understand. Explaining things that he felt were no ones business but his own. But Ryan said this and Ryan said that and he really began to hate Ryan O'Riely.

Already not pleased with the man for being involved with Miguel, repeatedly putting him in danger and for going along with the disastrous plan, now hearing just how wonderful Ryan was, was really pissing Beecher off. He had not had much to do with his former drug buddy for the last couple of years but had never thought him a fool. Why had he allowed Miguel to carry out the attempted assault? And why had he let it go so wrong?

If it involved his brother, Cyril seemed to be not as ignorant as he appeared to be about everything else that went on around him. Watching Beecher for a while during the lull in the inquisition he then asked, "Why don't you like my brother? Are you mad at him cause Alvarez likes him?"

Beecher shot around from sorting his clothes. "What? What do you mean?"

Sitting on Alvarez' bunk, Cyril was quite happy to chat, not taking in the frown on Beecher's face. "He's always coming to see him. They talk a lot." His face lit up. "Alvarez plays cards with me!" but then looked sad. "But he doesn't come to see me. He comes to see Ryan 'n' Ryan is always touching him. He must like it cause I like it when Ryan touches me. Makes me feel good. Safe. Ryan watches out for me."

Shit. Was this what Miguel 'needed' to tell him? He found it hard to believe that there was something going on between them other than business. He realised he was jealous. But was Cyril mixing it all up? Comparing how his brother touched him? He knew the older O'Riely brother would never do anything wrong to his brother, not like that anyway.

Before he let his emotions get the better of him he had to find out the truth. Sitting on the bunk, facing the long haired man, he reached out and touched his arm to get his attention back. "Ryan says I shouldn't let you touch me."

What the fuck? "What did he mean? Do you know?"

Cyril looked at him with a bewildered expression. "I don't know. Ryan said I should be careful. Not let you touch me. To be careful of you but your my friend and friends touch each other,"

Beecher kept his anger from showing. What the hell had Ryan said to him? "Did you tell Ryan that?"

"Yes. I asked him why it was okay for him to touch his friend but not for my friend to touch me. Ryan said it was different. Said you'd touch me in places I wouldn't want you to."

Beecher seethed inside. How could O'Riely possibly think he could be interested in Cyril? And just exactly where did O'Riely touch Alvarez? He moved to stand staring out of the Pod. Controlling his anger he spoke softly, after all, it wasn't Cyril's fault. "Cyril. Get ready for bed."

"O…kay," and while he moved quickly around the Pod, Beecher stood with fists clenched and decided he needed to have a long talk with the older O'Riely brother.

Lying on his bunk, the lights out, he wondered what it could be that Miguel had to tell him. He couldn't believe that he was involved with O'Riely like that but the doubt had been sown and he realised just how jealous he was.

Winding himself up, he had an impulse to remove O'Riely, then remembered. Chris had killed at least three of his 'lovers' that he knew about but he hadn't cared about them. Only that it was due to him. Did Alvarez care about O'Riely?

This was ridiculous. He turned over sighing. He had no idea what Miguel wanted him to know. There were so many possibilities but thinking about them was just a futile waste of time. He had told Miguel that he loved him, had smiled at the look on his face in reaction. It had been wonderful to him. He had also told him nothing else mattered. He let out a deep breath. It was true.

==000==

Alvarez had also spent the evening asking questions but, being in his head, he seldom managed to get any answers. He kept coming back to hearing Toby say that he loved him. He thought that he must have miss-heard but seeing that smile he knew he had said it.

It had been such a surprise. He'd known for a while that he loved Beecher and that in return Beecher did care for him but to hear those words! He prayed for it be true, that he hadn't said it to 'cheer him up' but he believed that Beecher wouldn't say something unless he meant it. It must then be true and it was wonderful.

He had also said that nothing else mattered. Was that true? He still had to tell him what he'd done. Did Beecher really know what had been done to him and if so, how?

Questions put aside, now in the dark, he kept all other images at bay by seeing Toby's face smiling at him just after he had said those words. To Alvarez nothing else mattered at all except that at that moment, he had believed.

==000==

On Sunday the time dragged for them both, seeming to stand still. Beecher spent the time with Rebadow and Brusmalis with Hill joining then on and off. And Cyril of course was constantly at his side. Wherever he went, Cyril followed. It was as if he was worried he'd upset him somehow but the questions had stopped and he was quiet all day.

He didn't waste the effort wondering what was going on in Cyril's mind, he had enough trouble figuring out Alvarez and hazarded he would never be able to understand the brain damaged man. In the past few days he'd caught himself thinking of him as like a child but then he would say something bringing him up short to remember that he was not.

Instead Beecher spent the day wondering how to broach the subject of Ryan O'Riely to Alvarez. He didn't want to accuse him of anything but the seed of doubt planted by Cyril had grown. He was being ridiculous, they were just business partners but the nagging doubt remained.

Alvarez did more that day than he had for the last week. He'd been informed he was to be released that afternoon so went about slowly getting his legs steady under him and getting clean and shaved. His dressings were replaced with fresh and he was given instructions on how to keep them clean and to report back in three days time so the ones in his thigh could finally be removed. They wouldn't keep him in the ward just for that.

Dressed and ready long before he was due for discharge, he decided to go and speak with O'Riely who so far had completely ignored him. "Hey?" sitting gingerly on the bottom of the Irishman's bed as sudden movement still hurt.

"What d'you want?"

He just shrugged. He wanted to say, 'I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. You were right, it was a stupid idea. It's my fault you got stabbed, it's my fault we're in here. But help me finish this. I can't let that Bastard get near to the man I love. I want to take the Bastard's eyes for what he did to me and I need your help'. "Sorry, man," he mumbled.

"Yeah. Right" Ryan sneered at him.

Looking at him, Miguel tried to say more but couldn't, he looked away uncomfortable. He owed Ryan.

O'Riely relented a bit but not much. He had soon found out what had occurred once he'd been taken out and had thought of Cyril. Alvarez had had it much worse. But thanks to that same Alvarez, he had another hole in his side, had already had to spend a week in here with at least another ahead and Gloria wasn't even here! In here where she should be.

He kept expecting his love to walk through the door and it stuck him every time he remembered that she wouldn't. She was gone. And to top it all, he had to trust Beecher, the man that held 'him' responsible for getting Alvarez hurt, raped, with his brother!

"When you getting' out?" Alvarez tried again.

"Bout a week." What the hell was going to happen to Cyril now the man on his bed was going back? That's all he wanted to know.

"Time to go," and the Hack stood impatiently waiting for Alvarez.

"See you when you get back then," more of a question than fact.

"Sure," non-committal from O'Riely.

Alvarez was not taken back to Em City but, moving slowly, he was herded into Sister Pete's office. Had Toby been told he was being released from the ward today? It was nearly time for the visit and he didn't want him to turn up finding him gone? He must have been told not to go.

"Hello, Miguel. Come in," and as the door closed behind him, "How are you feeling? You look much better."

"Okay suppose," and moved to lean back against the desk.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Nada," mumbled as he looked down. He just wanted to see Beecher. He had things to talk to him about. Tell him.

"Alright, but if you change your mind you know where I am."

"Yeah. Thanks." A knock at the door but Miguel ignored it, staring at the floor as the Nun went to answer.

Calling back into the room. "I'll be back soon. Stay here." She left, taking Cyril with her. Hands holding onto the desk, he continued to stare at his feet. What was he supposed to do now? He sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

Beecher smiled. Alvarez was wearing the bandanna he'd given him and he looked pretty good though he'd lost weight again. The paper stitches were the only thing marring his appearance. He walked to stand in front of him.

Alvarez saw the feet then looked up at him through lashes, biting at his bottom lip unconsciously.

He didn't look as happy to see him as Beecher was in return. He lifted a hand, stroking the newly marked check then his jaw. Alvarez' head dropped forwards onto his shoulder but he didn't stand off the desk and did not embrace him. Beecher shifted to hold his face in both hands, forcing his head up but the eyes would not follow. "Whatever it is you have to tell me, just say it."

A pause and then so low and hoarse it sounded as if travelling over stones, "I kissed him." He didn't cry although he thought he soon would. His eyes were so dry they stung as he continued to stare down even as he felt his cheeks softly stroked.

Beecher made a mistake, his mind still concerned with what Cyril had told him, he asked, "Who? O'Riely?"

Alvarez could not believe that he'd just said that. He shoved him away. "Fuck no! What the fuck are you talking about?" as Beecher staggered back. "How could you think that?" and then the tears did come as he rocked back against the table.

Beecher felt like shit. He'd been so stupid, uncaring. "Oh, Miguel. I'm sorry." He reached for him but Alvarez flinched, hands clutching the wood. "It was stupid. Something Cyril said. Please, I'm sorry I said anything." He scrubbed his hands through his hair.

Miguel was looking directly at him now. The look was cold, as was the voice. "What did Cyril say?"

Beecher knew without doubt he was wrong, that he should never had blurted out the ridiculous thought but he had and now had to get it out of the way, all of it. "He told me that O'Riely was always touching you and you liked it. And I was angry. Jealous." He returned the steady regard then Alvarez ducked his head, his body bouncing against the table, arms crossed over his waist in that so familiar defensive manner.

"He always has. Does it just to get a rise out of me. It doesn't mean anything." His voice beginning cold and angry began to lose strength. "I've never wanted it to, especially now. I belong to you. I only want you," and he would have collapsed if Beecher hadn't caught him, pulling him against himself and encircling the already encircled waist.

Alvarez was bereft. He'd only wanted to get back to Beecher where he belonged and now he was here in his arms and it still wasn't right. Worse, Beecher still didn't realise what he'd done and it was much worse than what he'd just been accused of. He hid his face in that soft neck he loved, praying this wouldn't be the last time he was allowed.

Toby was holding him as he had so many times. He'd thought he was weak before but now he was nothing, he had no strength at all. It had all been stolen from him. The only vestige left was that of Beecher holding him up. He was speaking to him. He should listen, it was important that he listen.

"Then tell me. Tell all you think you have to but remember this, Miguel Alvarez, I love you and truly, nothing else matters."

He let out a wretched sob against Toby's skin and relaxing his arms slowly, moved to hold onto Beecher's waist, leaning into him more.

"Can you look at me as you tell me?" holding onto his waist in return, pulling back slightly, hoping Miguel could stand on his own. He could not have done anything that was so bad?

Toby made another mistake but without realising it this time. "Look at Me?"

A hoarse roar issued from Alvarez as once more he pushed Beecher away from him, this time with violence. "Don't you say that! Don't you ever say that to me again! You hear me?" He was back leaning against the desk, hands holding his head hard. "He said that!" spitting it out, "He said that just before he...arghhh Shit! Just before he..." and Beecher caught him once more as he descended to the floor.

So kneeling together, Beecher gathered him to him. "Say it, Miguel. Get it all out! I'm not going anywhere. I will _not_ leave you! No matter what, I will _not_ leave you."

So through the agony of grief and memory, Alvarez told him. Between sobs and silences he told all that Robson and the others had done to him. "...an then…an then I kissed him...an he cut me. I'm so sorry, Toby. I kissed him!" Then he was a sobbing wreck on Beecher's lap, holding onto him painfully as Toby covered him, arms tight across his back, his own tears falling unnoticed.

"You did not have a choice."

"But I did. I could of refused," muffled and spoken into his stomach.

"No. No you didn't." Pulling him up, cupping his face as he spoke emphasising his words, shaking his head slightly, "You had to survive. That's the only choice you had. To survive or die and that's no choice at all. You survived. You will survive this!"

Miguel looked to him, wanting to believe. Toby's face was wet. He put fingertips to the man's tears. Beecher was crying. For him!

"You are here. With me. Where you belong. That's all I care about," and he leant forwards to kiss him.

Miguel felt the lips gently pressing against his own. He hesitated then fell all over again.

Beecher felt the hesitance but stayed still, not pushing but wanting, hoping, then he felt the slow response. Cradling the cloth covered head, he tenderly kissed Miguel deeply, wanting to kiss all the pain away but knowing it impossible.

By the time Sister Pete returned, Beecher was cradling the now placid Alvarez in his arms, the man's head tucked under his chin as he listened to Toby's heart. Nothing more had been said, Tobias grateful that Miguel let him hold him so close, Miguel grateful he still wanted to.

"We have twenty minutes or so before you both have to be in Em City. Is there anything you want to talk to me about?" and went to sit behind her desk as reluctantly they parted and, stiff himself, Beecher helped Alvarez to stand.

Moving him into a chair by the wall, he took the next sitting in the rare late sunshine. Alvarez' fingers were picking and Toby almost instinctively covered them with his left hand as he looked at Pete but had nothing he wanted to say. His mind wondering to when they could be relatively alone again at Lockdown. A question hit him. "Cyril is moving out right?"

She smiled indulgently, "Yes, Tobias. Now there's a spare bed they'll have him back on the ward."

"There's been a spare bed every day I've been up there!" and at least she had the decency to look embarrassed.

"When I told you they wanted Cyril out, it was the truth but yes, it was only that first night. But it was good for him to spend time without Ryan, with someone we could trust. Thank you."

Alvarez was holding his hand now, not caring what the woman thought and after all, she had given them an opportunity to be left alone together. Beecher still keeping hold, lifted his arm over the blue and white patterned head and pulled Miguel to him.

Ignoring the wooden arm in his side, sprawled in the chair, Alvarez leant into him, forehead to Beecher's cheek and closed his eyes.

Seeing the face relax, Pete turned to reading nothing much of interest on her desk until it was time for them to leave.

==000==

TBC…


	27. Chapter 27

Since 'Count', Alvarez had been propped up on his bunk with both Beecher and Cyril O'Riely sat on the floor reading. He had been watching Toby almost every second after entering the Pod. Beecher had kept his distance, wanting to help him but they had to keep Miguel's infirmities from prying eyes. He needed to appear totally capable of fending for himself.

He kept wondering when Cyril would be taken away. He couldn't talk to Toby with him here, not that he really had anymore to say but wanted to listen to his voice. "Beecher?" and the man turned to look at him, "Read to me?"

"Do you want me to start from the beginning?"

"Doesn't matter"

So settling back, leaning against the bunk by his feet, Tobias began to read aloud. Miguel studied the side of his face, concentrating on his voice, not taking in the words. Cyril put his magazine down and leaning on crossed legs also listened but soon started to fidget.

It was a relief to Alvarez as the Pod door opened and Murphy entered to get Cyril. "I want to stay here," he complained, looking up disappointed.

Murphy had more patience for Cyril than anyone besides his brother. "What about Ryan? I bet he wants to see you," and Cyril was up and off with a called out, "Bye, Beecher," and they were left alone for the night.

Glancing over his shoulder up at Miguel, Beecher said laughing, "Whatever Ryan did tell him about me aside, I think I've made a friend there," and shaking his head, twisted, leaning on the bunk and put a hand on Alvarez' leg running it up under his jeans leg.

Alvarez tried to stop, to hide the flinch at the sudden contact but was too late. Beecher quickly removed his hand. "No…Toby, I'm sorry," reaching a hand towards him.

Kneeling, he took the offered hand and held it tight. "You don't have to be sorry." Shit, as Miguel dropped his eyes again. He'd stared at him for at least the last two hours, could feel it as he read but now wouldn't look him in the eye. He held the impulse to tell him to. Time, he told himself, give him the time he needed, after all they had plenty of it as neither was getting out of here any time soon.

He shifted, sitting cross-legged on the floor, had a memory of that first night together in here. Alvarez was on as shaky ground as he'd been then, if not more so. Were they going to have to start all over again? Or could Beecher help Miguel get over this new trauma in his life quicker than he had?

It had taken him so long to allow anyone to touch him, had not wanted anyone near him until Chris. He didn't want to think on all that. It was history and now he was here with such a different man but one he had come to love and that man was holding his hand so tightly waiting for him to do something. He could tell by the nervous breathing, the tenseness of his body although he was attempting to appear relaxed as he lay there, waiting.

But just what was he waiting for? Toby had no idea what he was expected to do so he replayed almost the actions of that first night. He brought Miguel's hand to his lips, this time kissing the rose and rubbed it against his cheek. Getting no particular reaction, he settled down and waited himself for lights out and what the night might bring good or bad.

Alvarez began to watch him again. Toby had closed his eyes leaning his cheek on their joined hands just as he had that first night when he'd thought Beecher had dropped down to claim him. The only difference was he felt a bare cheek against the back of his hand instead of a bearded one in his palm. His other thumb found its way into his mouth but he pulled it out quickly. He had not bitten his nails for weeks and was not going to start again now. Toby wouldn't like it.

He longed for the lights to go out and for Beecher to just take him but doubted he would even if he asked. Not that he wouldn't want to, he hoped, but probably would not believe that he really wanted him to. He supposed it not a good idea any way as he was still very sore having not completely healed yet but he wanted to feel Beecher inside him rather than what he could still feel now. Alvarez was convinced he could still taste them too. He covered his eyes with his free hand as a dry sob wracked his body.

Toby was immediately kneeling, leaning towards him and he felt another kiss to his hand and a thumb smooth over his forehead. Miguel caught at the hand and, turning onto his side, pulled both of the man's hands under his chin as, closing his eyes, he curled up.

Beecher silently studied his face, so full of anguish, screwed up with that vain standing proud on his forehead and, with both his hands caught tight, he placed his own forehead against Miguel's. Not knowing what else to do, he waited once more.

He lost track of time but with his legs going numb, he shifted back to sitting and felt warmth as Miguel took one of his thumbs inside his mouth, closed his lips around it then stillness. What was he expected to do? Be still himself or begin to explore? He knew how Alvarez loved to make love, in fact, to his fingers, so, tentatively he began to move around the warm mouth.

A moment and then holding his hands even tighter, Miguel began sucking, biting and licking, toying with his thumb. Beecher watched the face as he moved his head around and ravished his digit as seductively as he ever had but with one difference. Miguel's eyes were fixed on him. He bit lightly at the heel of his hand as he took him as deep as he could. Beecher had a worry Alvarez would choke himself but the man was intent on practically devouring him. Alvarez moved to hold tightly to his wrist so he spread his fingers out holding that face.

Miguel raised himself up onto his elbow, his other hand releasing Beecher's and stretching forward to fumble at Beecher's jeans, trying to get them open without losing contact with his thumb or eyes. Toby knelt up but shifted away. "Miguel. No," he checked the window, they hadn't been seen yet but it could so easily happen. He turned back and saw anger and accusation in the staring eyes. "It's still bright," he pleaded with him to understand. "It's not safe!"

All Alvarez was conscious of was that he had to get that taste out of his throat and the only way he could think to do it was to replace it was with one he could want. Nothing else had worked. No matter how many times he cleaned his teeth, whatever he ate, not even the sweetness of the lollypops Beecher had left on his bed everyday in the hospital had done it.

Also he had to give this man pleasure. Pleasure him in gratitude for all his patience, for still wanting him and to prove he was worth that wanting. Still uncertain that he could indeed do it, that he would not freeze or freak out, he was determined he had to try and now started, doing what he knew turned the other man on so well, he would, could not stop.

He needed to be able to look up and see the face of the man he loved gazing down at him, not the manic grin of an animal. But Beecher was getting up, backing away, trying to pull his hand from his mouth. Alvarez would not let go, holding onto that wrist with both hands as he moved off the bunk to follow, ignoring the stiffness.

Beecher was having a hard time believing this. He'd longed for the time when Miguel wouldn't wait for him, when he'd be the instigator. Now it was happening but there was something about this that felt decidedly wrong. Not only was Miguel ignoring the risk of being seen, of being separated from him, Beecher sensed that he was wanting to have sex for all the wrong reasons.

If he turned him down, how would Miguel see it? A rejection obviously but would it run deeper? But this wasn't right. He tried to get his thumb back, pulling harder and harder, his other hand pushing at Miguel's face until the man, staring hard at him in the eye, actually bit down, clamping on with his teeth.

Now Beecher froze, looking back with disbelief and horror as he felt his skin give under the pressure. "Get off me!" He couldn't stand the way that Alvarez was looking at him, couldn't remember him blinking the entire time. He pushed his hand hard over Alvarez' eyes trying to force him away without having to fight him. He did not want to have to hurt him.

"Please, Miguel! Stop this...You're hurting me!" and he was released instantly as Alvarez shot away to land sprawling, slipping off the edge of the bunk to sit staring up from the floor. He didn't move. Beecher put his hand under the cold water, twisting to look behind him.

What the fuck had he done? Beecher was looking down in confusion at him but at least he didn't look angry but… he'd told him 'no' and to 'get off him'. Was it all lies then? Did Beecher now realise, as they started on the path towards sex, that he was indeed tainted? Did he believe him ruined as he himself did? He went completely numb.

Alvarez did not even appear to be breathing. Quickly, Tobias checked his hand. The teeth marks were livid but not as bad as it had felt, although he did have four punctured marks, two on each side, presumably from Miguel's canines. Wrapping a flannel around the wounds, he turned his attention to the immobile figure at his feet.

Kneeling between splayed legs, he reached his good hand to carefully close Miguel's mouth, "Oh Miguel. Just what are you thinking?" He didn't expect an answer but got one.

"You lied to me!" Right now, Toby would have preferred it if Miguel didn't look at him. Not like this, his eyes filled with hurt and anger in the still unblinking gaze.

"How?" mystified.

"You said it dint matter! You said you still wanted me but you don't! You can't bear have me touch you!"

He was seeing it all wrong. "How can you think that? It's not true. Oh, Miguel you must believe me. I have never lied to you!"

Alvarez obviously wasn't buying it but at least he finally blinked. His only movement. "Why? It's not true." Toby wanted to touch him but doubted it wise so he continued to nurse his abused hand.

"You used to like it when I did your fingers. Then you'd always have me but not now! You said, No!"

"But, Miguel, the lights are still on. It's not safe. I also said that. I've only just got you back. I don't want us separated again. I want us here together, not shut up in the 'Hole'. Can't you understand that?" Was he getting through at all?

Miguel's head had dropped to one side, still looking at him, assessing what he was being told. "No. You told me to get off you!"

"You were hurting me," Tobias tried to reason with him.

Miguel sneered, "I'd never hurt you. I told you that!"

Beecher thought of his shoulders, his back but knew none of it had been intentional, well only the once. He looked down and slowly unwrapped his hand and held it up in front of the angrily set face.

Miguel's eyes began then to search rapidly over the damaged hand, he could see the teeth marks, the holes which still bled slightly. He became conscious of the metallic tang on his tongue and put fingers inside his mouth, withdrew and looked at them, tried again. He couldn't see any blood but he could taste it.

He looked at Toby, this time in horror at what he'd done. He'd not known that he'd bitten so hard. He only remembered that he had not wanted that thumb from his mouth or the fingers from his face.

The change in attitude was instantaneous as he groaned out, toppling to his side, pulling his knees up into a tight ball before Beecher had a chance to catch him. Arms covering his head he never heard the call, didn't notice as the lights were shut off. All he knew was remorse. He had hurt Toby. He had wounded him and he had accused and Toby had done nothing to deserve it.

There was a mumbling coming from the curled figure and Beecher had to lean close to make any of it out. Shit, not again? He let out a sigh as he heard, "Perdóname, lo siento. All my fault. Always my fault. I'm sorry. Perdóname."

Beecher did what he thought most likely to have an effect on Alvarez. Grabbing at him, with a great deal of effort, he managed to pull the man up against his chest and sat rocking him, hearing the words cease but he remained rigidly curled. Encircling him, Beecher tried to coax the arms down from around his head, gently pulling until his persistence paid off but only for him to remain in a foetal position. He began to stroke his face, crooning that he'd be okay, he didn't blame him, none of this was his fault and he had nothing to apologise for.

Alvarez began to relax, leaning into him more and Beecher let him take his time as the legs uncurled, stretching out as he shifted. The arms gradually crept their way around his torso to end as they had so many times before, holding onto his shoulders, and a face buried in his neck. Miguel must be uncomfortable, twisted as he was. Beecher certainly was, as he was being wedged more and more between the sink and the toilet. "Miguel, please get up. I have to move," expecting resistance but was surprised when the Latino immediately let go and pulled away to end sitting slumped, legs still splayed facing away from him.

Extricating his now aching body, Beecher crawled around to kneel next to him, catching hold and turned his head towards him. The eyes were dull as they peered at him. "I didn't know I hurt you," Miguel told him so quietly and his head dropped as his stinging eyes began to fill.

"It's nothing. I've had far worse," laughing derisively. "Come on. Get up. Stand up now," and he obeyed as Beecher also stood to hold his sad face by fingertips. "Come on," and Toby moved to the head of Miguel's bunk, propped the pillow behind his back and beckoned him to come and sit.

Perched on the edge, Alvarez looked at his hands but as Beecher gently pulled him back, he climbed on, settling between Toby's legs, leaning against him, his hand holding onto the thigh of the leg remaining bent to the floor. He was surrounded once more and let his head fall back onto Beecher's, to him, so broad shoulder. He looked off into the Pod and spoke quietly. "I am so sorry for everything."

"Shush," and Beecher stroked the stretched neck then once more held him tight across his chest as the head turned towards him. "You're going to be alright," and feeling Miguel begin to relax against him, he kissed his cheek gently on the stitches then closed his eyes, hoping that Alvarez would manage to find some rest. "We are going to be alright."

==000==

TBC…


	28. Chapter 28

Shocking awake, Miguel had been dreaming and it hadn't been pleasant. He could taste it again. Moving carefully, he climbed off the bunk trying not to disturb Beecher again.

Last time he'd awoken, he must have been moving, wrestling in his sleep as he came around to find Toby trying to soothe him. Gratefully he had settled back.

Now, he stood gazing down at him. Toby had only roused enough to shift, stretching out and turning slightly but continued to sleep. Miguel's heart hurt so much looking at him. He knew that Toby cared for him but also, it must be true, that he did love him to put up with so much and still risk to hold him through the night. The man deserved someone far better than Miguel Alvarez, someone he didn't need to spend all of his time and energy reassuring, struggling with, but someone he could just enjoy being with. He so desperately wanted to be that person, had been, but for such a short time.

He had to get over this, not only for himself but, more importantly to him, for Tobias Beecher. He took in a deep breath re-vowing that he would do whatever it took to make this man happy. It had frightened him so much that unknowingly he'd caused him pain. He'd bitten the man for Fuck sake! What else was he capable of doing to him?

The best thing for Toby was for him to leave. Just leave. Sure Toby would hurt for a while but once he was out of the way he would be able to get on and hopefully find someone better. His hands went hard to his temple.

Who the hell was he trying to fool? He was far too weak to do what was best for someone else. He didn't want to leave him. Didn't want his life to end. Not now. Not while he still had Beecher and he did have Beecher. Though it was so difficult to believe, Beecher must still want him to put up with all his crap.

He used the toilet and turning, to climb back next to Beecher, he got that taste in his throat again. He knew it wasn't real but he had to get rid of it nether the less. Moving to the sink, grabbing up his brush and paste, he once more tried to clean it away. But no matter how hard he brushed his teeth, his tongue, rinsed and gargled, it still lurked there. He was about to reload the brush then, instead, threw it down into the metal sink. His mouth would not get any cleaner.

Leaning on the sink with his head dropping, he flinched as a hand rubbed at his shoulder. Tiredly he looked into the mirror seeing Beecher looking back. "It won't go. The taste. It just won't go."

Beecher didn't need to ask, he knew. "It will. Might take a little time but it will."

Time. He didn't want it to take time. He already had other plans on how to rid himself of the taint. Turning around, gazing into those blue orbs shadowed in the gloom, he lifted a hand to lay fingertips to the smooth cheek, the lips. He stood, his own lips parted waiting for Toby to kiss him but he just stood watching, so he leant forwards and, closing the gap, laid his lips softly on Toby's. Feeling no immediate response, he used the tip of his tongue, running it along the bottom lip, asking for entry, leaning into him, palms on his chest as he was allowed.

It seemed that Beecher was going to leave it to him to set the pace as he responded to Miguel's actions but didn't push as if worried he might frighten him away. Alvarez was also worrying so he concentrated on the feel of Toby's mouth, slipping in his tongue, searching and finding the other's. He made his body relax attempting to feel that melting which used to be so automatic.

Beecher was holding him so gently, uncertain of his reactions, but he was going to do this no matter what. He had to get that taste from his throat by replacing it with the taste of Toby and he had to thank him just for being here.

He had to do this, to give this man pleasure, whether he felt it or not but he hoped that he would. He began to push at Beecher, to manoeuvre him to the back of the Pod. It was amazing that no Hacks came rushing in to separate them, it must be at least half way through the night though really he had no idea but they had been left lone.

Prudence decreed that he steer Beecher to the darker shadows at the bunk head where most of their fucking had taken place, only using the bunk when Toby wanted 'to be serious about this'. Alvarez did not want to be made love to, he wanted to be 'cured', cleansed by feeling Beecher in all those places he could still feel a foreign, uninvited presence that would not leave.

Beecher was surprised at the force with which Alvarez kissed him, pinning him against the back wall. Liking it 'rough' and hard himself, other than urging him on, Miguel had never been this aggressive towards him before. His hands were everywhere, pushing him back if he attempted to move from the wall. It was as if he were taking no prisoners.

He wondered at the irony and contradiction of his pun but was cut short as his jeans and underwear were swiftly pushed down without preamble and his hips pulled forwards by tightly grasping hands. The hand he placed on Miguel's face, wanting to make him look at him, ask if he was sure he wanted to do this, was violently knocked away as Miguel took him straight into the back of his throat. His already interested prick sprang to full attention as the moist heat surrounded him.

He looked down and caught the glint of Miguel's eyes staring up at him, working himself back and forth along his shaft, no finesse, no attention to detail, just taking him deep then pulling back. Beecher worried again that Miguel would choke himself but his prick didn't care as the head kept hitting the roof of his mouth sliding into the man's throat and he got an inkling, as his hand was hit away again, that he knew what Miguel was trying to do.

His hands dug into Beecher's hips, pulling them in time with his movements then felt it as the man came to meet him, thrusting his hips himself. 'Keep looking down at me, keep looking at me.' He could just make out his face in the dim light. 'It's Beecher,' he kept telling himself, 'Its Toby, its Toby I can feel'.

He opened up once more and took in the man's length ignoring the urge to gag then sucking, closing his lips hard to drag back along the length over and over. He shifted on his knees, wanting to take him in deeper if he could. It was Toby who had begun to thrust into him, it was Toby he could taste against his tongue, filling his mouth. Again he hit the searching hand away.

That he did _not_ want as he knew he would be unable to continue if his head was held. He was trying to remove a taint _and_ pleasure this man, not recreate an act which was attempting to destroy him. He had to do this, wanted to.

He knew he was crap at this, had been told so often enough in isolation, and he'd never been able to continue long enough for Beecher to cum in his mouth, but he was not going to stop now. He had not frozen up or freaked out, as he'd feared. He wanted Toby's cum in his throat knowing it would take away the taste of the others and if it didn't? Then he would try again and again until it did.

Beecher could feel himself building, his cock appreciated this whatever the motive behind it. He didn't know what to do with his hands, as Miguel obviously didn't want them on him, so he pushed them behind his back, fighting the urge to grab Miguel as he came deep into his throat, not being able to hold back any longer. Miguel did gag, he choked but did not stop. Still staring up at Beecher as he gasped out, still holding his gaze as long as he could.

Giving a final shudder, Toby relaxed against the wall, closing his eyes and swallowing hard.

Alvarez was not letting him go. Gulping, coughing around him, he would not still his movements, the slightly bitter taste sweet to him as it was Toby's. The man jerked a final time, the cock going lax in his mouth but he continued to work.

He'd done it, he'd at last managed to bring Beecher off by mouth and now he cleaned him, stripped him. He'd brought him pleasure using his mouth and surely, if he continued, he could do it again as the man deserved so much more. He had to keep going, to feel that prick harden once more, to fill him. To burn away the taste of three other men. It was working as this was Toby he could feel, could now taste and he just prayed that, if the taste ever came back, it would be of this man to whom he belonged and not of those who had stolen him.

"Miguel. Stop, please, I'm ...done. You have to stop," gazing down at him but the brown eyes just kept staring up, his movements set on automatic. In different circumstances, Toby was sure that he would have hardened again but those eyes. He was under no illusions that Alvarez was doing this because he was enjoying it so much.

There was no emotion coming from him, no passion, hands gripping tight, the fingers digging in and, as the hands left him to knock his away, on Miguel's backward movement, he pulled himself clear. He grabbed Miguel's face and the man's hands tight on Beecher's wrists, he followed the urging to stand, swaying open mouthed before him, his eyes wide wondering what he had done wrong now.

Beecher kissed him hard, thrusting his tongue in, tasting himself along with Miguel. He let go of his head and found himself met with equal if not greater vigour, hands placed flat on his chest as Toby held onto his shoulders. The kiss dying with the last of his strength, still not recovered from shooting into that hungry mouth, he left Miguel's lips to have his face buried in his neck in that familiar way.

Miguel's hands on his chest fisted, holding onto his T-shirt, and Beecher felt as much as heard the deep sob, then shuddering, Alvarez began to cry against him. Toby held him to himself tight.

==000==

TBC…


	29. Chapter 29

Alvarez was far too quiet for Beecher's liking the next morning. He'd held him for a long time after the tears had stopped and Miguel had said nothing as he acquiesced at the suggestion that they get some sleep. Making no move of his own, Alvarez had stood subdued as he let Beecher undress and basically tuck him in.

Toby had sat by his side, stroking his short dark hair until he appeared to sleep and, climbing into his own bunk, had half expected a question but leaning over, he saw Miguel was curled up and he thought, finally sleeping but the small smile usually visible was absent.

They got through breakfast without incident. None of Miguel's frailty or insecurities showed as he gave out a persona that nothing was wrong, nothing had happened although near all the population seemed to know. There were many looks and nudges as he moved to their chosen table and sat.

Beecher found he still had to contend with Cyril O'Riely who had been waiting with a Hack as the gates to Em City were opened. He'd thought his 'brother sitting duties' were over but it appeared that, although the hospital staff would accommodate him at night, they insisted there was no need to have him taking up space and time during the day. Without Ryan to watch over him, McManus had had to release Cyril from his work assignment and keep him inside Em City rather than risk an incident in the kitchen.

With Beecher gone to work with the Nun and Rebadow's friend gone to look after Ryan, Cyril found himself sat with the old man who had been so nice to him the day Ryan went missing and Ryan's friend Alvarez. He was Beecher's friend too. Even though he used to play cards with him, Cyril knew he only came to see his brother.

He grinned, maybe he could answer his question. Beecher had told him a lot but he didn't really get it. Ryan kept telling him things and it confused him 'cause Beecher said it different.

Alvarez didn't look very happy but if Beecher looked after Alvarez as Ryan did him, he should be. He'd not said anything at all except when he asked Beecher to read to him yesterday. If Cyril talked to him it might cheer him up as he'd just shaken his head when he asked if he wanted to play cards.

Cyril waited, wondering if he should say anything, but as the old man excused himself leaving with a smile, he leant forwards against the table, his hands underneath. "Alvarez?" but he didn't answer, just carried on watching his hands on the table as he sprawled back in the chair. "Alvarez?" and he touched his arm, pulling back rapidly as the man flinched then stared at him. He didn't look angry but Cyril still didn't like it as it was as if he was staring right through his head.

He wished he hadn't said anything and that the old man would come back. He cast around searching for a friendly face but couldn't see one.

"So? What d'ya want?"

He looked back at Alvarez. "Why does Beecher like you so much?"

He had made the man angry, he could tell even though he went back to staring at his hands. Then very quietly but he heard him, "I don't know."

"Beecher says you make him smile," not knowing tact or subterfuge anymore, just what he'd been told.

"Not anymore."

"Why?"

Alvarez looked at him hard, "Go watch TV or sumut."

"There's nothing good on." A pause, then, "You like Ryan. Ryan's nice."

"So?"

"Beecher likes you but you like Ryan."

What was the idiot talking about? "So? So what?" feeling his shoulders clench up and a pain start behind his eyes.

"Its not right. Beecher likes you. You should like Beecher not Ryan. I like Beecher. If he liked me as much as he does you, I wouldn't want to spend time with someone else. It's not fair!"

Alvarez was having a hard time following this. He wasn't used to how Cyril talked or thought as he always sat quietly whenever he spoke to Ryan. He had thought for a moment that Cyril was talking about 'love' not 'like' but then lost the thread. He'd been so deep in his own thoughts about Toby that he felt like he had joined this conversation half way through.

"Is that why everyone in the hospital was so mean because Beecher likes you but you don't like Beecher?" Cyril would not give up now that the other was talking to him.

"I like Beecher," Alvarez found himself admitting to the open eager face watching him.

Cyril nodded at that. "Do you like it when Ryan touches you? I do, it makes me feel good, safe."

"No!" scoffing at him.

Cyril looked puzzled. "Then why d'you let him?" Alvarez just shrugged. "Do you like it when Beecher touches you?"

He couldn't believe that he was answering these questions but he did. "Yes. I like it."

"Why?"

"Makes me feel good," shrugging again, using Cyril's own words.

"Why?"

"Like you said. Makes me feel safe," staring at the table, 'safe, strong, wanted,' he thought.

"But he touches you different than he touches me. Ryan said so. Why?"

Oh, for fucks sake! How the hell had Toby put up with this for days on end? And who was he talking about now, Toby or Ryan?

He suddenly understood how Toby could get the wrong idea about him and O'Riely.

"Ryan told me not to let Beecher touch me but I like him. He's my friend."

Alvarez felt anger growing as he stared at Cyril. "What else did 'Ryan' tell you?"

"He said I should ask Beecher."

So that Bastard, O'Riely had done this on purpose. He was trying to cause trouble between them and had used his brother who didn't realise his questions were causing doubt. And it had nearly worked.

He quickly checked that they were not being listened to but there was hardly anyone around, all having somewhere to be. He wished he did. Leaning across the table he was met by an eager expression.

Maybe now, Cyril thought, he was going to get his answer.

"You listen to me good, you hear me?"

He nodded but was a bit nervous as Alvarez was angry but what had he done?

"Ryan's right. You stay away from Beecher. Because he's mine! I'm the one he touches." Miguel saw the question coming, "No, not like Ryan touches you," and prayed Beecher didn't. His anger was rising and it loosed his tongue. "I like it when he touches me. I like it when he fucks me in the ass. You know? Using that thing between your legs? Do you remember how to use it?"

He grabbed onto Cyril's arm ignoring the frightened face. "It feels good having Beecher's prick inside me, fucking me, and it's for me alone. Not you. You keep away from Beecher and tell that Bastard brother of yours it's not gonna work. Remember to tell him… it's… not… going to… work! He's not going to cause trouble between us!" He threw Cyril's arm away in disgust.

Cyril was welling up. Alvarez was being really mean to him and he only wanted to know what was happening but he had said something Cyril had been trying to find out through out all of this. So asking another question, he braved the man's anger, "But why do you like it?... I didn't."

"What?" but Cyril chose that moment to go quiet.

Alvarez looked like he was going to hit him and Ryan wasn't here. He knew he could box, could fight back if he had to, but this was Beecher's friend as well as Ryan's and Beecher was his friend and he wouldn't want him to hit his friend. "I'm sorry," spoken with sadness.

Alvarez was taken aback. Cyril was beginning to cry and every time he opened his mouth to ask what he'd meant, Cyril would say he was sorry. Alvarez was rocked by an image of himself, of what Toby had had to contend with from him. His anger fled and he felt guilt for making the man cry. It was not his fault. None of it was and once more he felt so grateful to Toby for putting up with weeks of this from him.

There was nothing like a mirror image, not of glass, to make you realise just who you were. He vowed Beecher would never have to cope with this from him again. He'd been so patient, hell, he was saintly compared to him. But what had Cyril meant?

Had he still been talking about Beecher? That didn't make him angry now. He went cold. He had to find out. "Shit, Cyril. Don't cry, man. I'm sorry. Please. . Por favor? I'm not angry at you." He touched his hand, leaning down to look up at him but felt stupid. He was no good at this.

"You hurt me," Cyril accused as he rubbed at his wrist still.

Oh crap! "I know and I'm sorry but it wasn't you. Okay?"

"Okay," and he rubbed a hand across his nose, the tears ending as swiftly as they'd started. How, Alvarez wondered, did this timid man cope with Ryan O'Riely? He couldn't imagine Ryan having enough patience but then again, he guessed he was a different person with his brother than with everyone else. Just as Beecher was with him and he was with Beecher.

"Cyril? What did you mean, you didn't like it?" trying to sound gentle, "Did someone put their prick up your ass?" He felt awkward saying this to Cyril now but decided to speak plainly and prayed, not Toby please not Toby, as Cyril slowly nodded. "Who?" he asked scared of the answer.

"Ryan don't think I remember but I do. I didn't like it. It hurt."

Alvarez felt relieved as it must have been a while ago. "Who Cyril?" thinking who could have done such a thing to this hapless man? But then, the list was long. If some Bastard could get him himself so easily, what chance someone like Cyril? "Them men Ryan and you talked about."

Alvarez' veins began to freeze. "Do you know their names?"

Cyril shook his head. He knew but didn't want to say. "One of them's gone now. That's what you talked about. Ryan said I should stay away from his friend 'specially now but he's not here. They put him in that horrible room."

Alvarez had started to look at him funny again but now the look was sad. He wished Ryan was here or Beecher. He didn't want Alvarez to be sad. "Do you want to play cards now?" But Alvarez didn't answer him but was biting his lip staring off. Cyril tried to see what he was looking at but there was nothing there.

So that's why O'Riely had gone along with his plans. Because of Cyril. He had wondered, hadn't believed it was in return for his help as Ryan would want that without anything in return if he could. Now surely, after being stabbed, he would willingly help him finish this. For so many reasons now, Alvarez wanted Robson dead. "Ryan's right. Cyril, stay away from Robson and his 'friends'!"

Cyril had figured something out all by himself but Alvarez would tell him if he was right, "Alvarez?"

"Hurh?" once more lost in his thoughts.

"Was it that man that hurt Ryan and you? Cause I know you were trying to 'hurt' him."

Alvarez looked back at him. Would it do any harm for him to know? He already seemed to know much more than anyone thought and surely he wouldn't do anything 'rash'. "Yes Cyril. It was him and his friends."

"Oh." Then Cyril looked up at him, really scared. "They didn't do that to Ryan? What they did to me did they?"

Miguel looked at him dully, "No, Cyril. It wasn't Ryan they did it to." Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. He held his head in his hands.

Cyril patted his arm, he understood. They'd done that thing to him so that must be why he was so sad. But...but he'd said he liked having that done. Cyril was confused again. "Did you like it? You like it when Beecher does it."

Alvarez stared at him and his face was horrible. "Of course I fuckin' didn't like it. They didn't do it cause they liked me. Look at my face! Just look at my damn face," pointing to the stitches, "You think someone that liked me would do this? That I would like them to? They did it to hurt me. To hurt Beecher! Just like they did it to you. To hurt you, to hurt Ryan. Get it. D'you understand now?"

He realised that his voice was rising, in volume and pitch, just as he was pushing up from the table and the look he was getting from Cyril. He couldn't stand that, not pity from a fuckin' retard. He shot backwards, wanting to break something, hurt someone because he hurt so much. Men were staring at him, Hacks were looking at him, tensed, ready to run at him. Frustrated, not knowing what else to do, he stalked back to Toby's Pod, staring down all in his path.

Cyril didn't know what to do either. He'd been told not to be on his own. He looked around for Rebadow or the one in the wheelchair but couldn't see them. There were two men smiling, beckoning to him and he got up to go over then stopped. He didn't know them and Ryan had told him to stay away from everyone except Beecher and his friends. They weren't friends of Beecher. So he followed Alvarez and stood outside his Pod. He hadn't meant to upset him, could see him now leaning on the top bunk, arms over his head, his foot kicking at nothing.

Those two men were coming over to him. He looked in at Alvarez but he was already mad at him.

"Hey, Cyril. You don't look too happy."

"I'm Okay," he said backing away.

"We've got something that will cheer you up." They were really close now so he moved further back, looking for someone that would help him but he couldn't see anyone. "We could keep you company. Would you like that?" and they laughed.

He didn't like it, he wanted Ryan, he'd make them go away. He hated it when people played with his hair like that, pulling it. "Leave me alone."

"But you look so lonely. We only want to make you happy."

He was scared now, he couldn't back away any further as he'd hit a wall. 'Ryan?' he thought, 'Ryan?' He was going to have to fight someone after all and he'd end up in that dirty room.

"Get the fuck away from him!" The two men turned.

"Hey we were only being friendly."

"Now," no volume but all threat. It was Beecher. Beecher was here and he looked really scary. Cyril didn't like that look, neither must the men as they left, one calling back, "Later, Cyril," and laughing, they moved across the pen.

"What are you doing on your own? I told you to stay with Alvarez and Rebadow."

Cyril was like a naughty child caught out. Beecher was not going to tell him it was okay, it wasn't, he should have done as he was told. "Where's Bob?"

"I don't know. He left ages ago."

"And Alvarez?" He still looked angry but not as he'd been with those two men but he would be when he found out. "Well?" Cyril wouldn't look at him. 'Give me strength', thought Beecher.

"I made him angry but I didn't mean to," Cyril told him plaintively.

Beecher scrubbed a hand through his hair. "So he left you alone?"

Cyril nodded, "He looked sad. I didn't mean to make him look sad."

"I know you didn't. Come on, lets find him then go get something to eat."

Cyril smiled, "I'm hungry."

Beecher relented and smiled back. "Where did he go?" and followed the pointing finger to the Pod. He wanted to be angry at Miguel for how could he have left Cyril alone out here to fend for himself?

He entered the cell, took one look at Alvarez and couldn't be. He stopped and Cyril walked into his back. He was about to tell him to wait outside, he needed privacy to sort this latest mess out but saw those two vultures still watching Cyril. Shit, they were in trouble as it looked like the Aryans were going after Cyril now. This was turning into a war. 'Oh, Miguel, in trying to keep me safe, what have you started?'

Alvarez must know they were there but remained as he was, one foot scuffing at the other, stretched up over the top bunk and Beecher knew it was not the time for what the stance was doing to him. One day the man would wear jeans that didn't constantly fall to his hips, but then again, it would be a sad day for Beecher.

Moving behind him, he said his name announcing his presence before laying hands on the exposed waist, the top pulled up leaving the inviting gap. Miguel knowing he was behind him, managed to stop the flinch. "How you doing?" Just a shrug in reply. "Cyril thinks he upset you." Nothing, he just kept scuffing with his foot. "Want to talk?" Beecher thought the head shook slightly. He rubbed at the thin sides. "Come on. Let's go eat."

"How do you do it?" muffled but Beecher thought he got it.

"Why do I do what?"

The Bandanna covered head turned under the arms so he was clearer, "Put up with me?"

"You know why. I told you," he was conscious of Cyril stood waiting by the Plexi.

"Not why. How?"

Toby leaned in, laughing softly, "Same reason. I love you."

Miguel started fidgeting more, hitting the toe of his pump repeatedly against the floor. He wanted to say he was sorry again but remembered how annoying it had been from Cyril.

Beecher could not resist. He rubbed his hands slowly up and down those stretched sides. Miguel's head came up to rest on top of his folded arms as he felt Beecher move up against him.

Cyril though that this must be what Ryan had told him about. It was true Ryan never touched him like that. He thought he shouldn't be watching and turned around to look out of the Pod. Those men were still there and started smiling at him again. He glanced back at Beecher but he was occupied with his friend. He looked out again and the men laughed, waving at him as they walked towards, then passed, heading towards the gates. He was hungry too. He thought about leaving, going on his own but remembered that the last time he'd done that, that man had been there. Then he had been thrown into that horrible room when he'd hit him.

He remembered a lot more than Ryan seemed to think but didn't talk about it much. He didn't talk that much at all. Look what happened when he did, he'd upset Alvarez. But he _was_ hungry, he turned back.

Beecher was stood really close to his friend and he had his hands inside the man's jeans. Alvarez turned his head, his hands moving across the bunk to hold the far side. Cyril could tell from the look he got, before Alvarez ignored him, that he didn't want him there and Cyril didn't want to upset him again as he looked better now Beecher was here. He turned and opened the door. He would leave them alone and go get something to eat. He'd be okay.

Beecher heard the door open and left off kissing Miguel's neck. "Shit," under his breath and stood back. "Cyril, wait," stopping him half way out of the door. Reluctantly pulling his hands from the top of Alvarez' thighs, Beecher pulled him back by the waist and spoke into his ear, "Later?"

Miguel turned around, nodded laying hands on Beecher's chest then looked into his eyes. If they could of continued, he thought he would have been alright. The hands had felt okay and he hadn't frozen. It had been nice, gentle and unexpected, so he hadn't had time to worry.

Beecher kissed the corner of his mouth, then, "Lets eat." And pushing Cyril along they left.

==000==

TBC…


	30. Chapter 30

It turned out that Rebadow had gone up to the Hospital ward not feeling too good, so Beecher got Alvarez to promise he would keep Cyril with him no matter what. He only had an hour to do this afternoon but back in Em City he was uncomfortable at leaving them. There was far too much attention on Cyril from the Brotherhood, making their intentions obvious and he was really concerned. Perhaps that was the idea.

He had two men to watch over as well as himself. Had Murphy been about, he would probably have given him a warning but, adversely luckily for him and Alvarez, the Chief Officer was still doing a stint at nights.

He caught Said's eye at the next table, glanced over at the threat and back, slight movement indicating Cyril. Said nodded, he would watch. Beecher could trust him. Although Cyril had been responsible for the death of Khan, they knew it not intentional but a tragic accident. Said would not be looking for payback turning a blind eye if something happened. He wasn't sure of the others sat around their Imam but of his friend he was.

He left Cyril and Alvarez playing cards with Hill a little easier. But just how had he ended up with the responsibility of watching out for two other men when he'd always had enough trouble looking out for himself? Every time he noticed the stitches in Miguel's face, when he'd felt the dressing on the top of his thigh, he realised he hadn't being doing such a great job of it.

When he got back things seemed to be okay. His 'two men' were sprawled in front of the TV and heading over, he was intercepted by Said. "Be wary my friend. I do not like this," and neither did he. He spent the rest of the afternoon propping up a pillar, watching several men as they in turn watched the seemingly oblivious couple in front of the TV bank.

It came as they filtered back into Em City after dinner. Beecher was watching Miguel's bemused face as Cyril insisted on telling him why he should have eaten all of his vegetables and not just the brightly coloured ones. He noticed movement from the corner of his eye and pushed the unsuspecting O'Riely brother out of the way of the blade heading towards him, knocking him into Alvarez who hit the floor hard.

As Beecher struggled to hold onto the hand with the blade, trying now to reach his face, he felt pain across his arm as a Hack tackled someone to the floor beside him. He and his attacker were violently pulled apart and he too found himself face down on the floor, a weight on his back as his hands were forced behind him and cuffed. He cursed at the pain, heard a "this ones bleeding" and he was dragged up and away, looking back to see Cyril holding onto a horrified Alvarez as they watched him being taken away.

"Lockdown. Lockdown!" and Beecher had the last sight of them as everyone was forced into the Pods. At least he'd prevented them from being hurt but this was bad. The attack had been so blatant. They were definitely in deep trouble.

=0=

Half an hour later, still cuffed, Beecher sat not looking up at McManus as his arm was bandaged. Another seven stitches to add to the running total. He thought of Miguel's face as the nurse finished, carefully pulled his fleece back up.

"You should be going to the 'Hole'."

"What the hell for? It was me that got attacked."

"From what I hear, it wasn't you they were after."

Beecher made a derisive noise. They'd soon turned their attention, their shanks on him. Once he'd shoved Cyril out of the way they'd ignored him, he had just been a distraction. "So why'd it happen?"

He looked up at McManus, stood there with arms folded. It didn't even dignify an answer.

McManus stared at his feet rocking forwards. "Shillinger dies. Alvarez is attacked, O'Riely's with him so he gets attacked. Robson's in the Hole, for a fight. Two of the Aryan's from Unit B are in the 'Hole'. Now two from Em City are in the 'Hole'. All for fights and the common denominator in all this? You."

Beecher laughed, "You noticed then?"

Tim leaned in "They're not going to be in there for ever. Let us get this sorted before they get out. Tell me what's going on and we can end it."

He looked up at the man arching an eyebrow. Who was he trying to fool? Or did he really believe he could?

"Fine!" McManus spat and to the Hack behind him, "Take him back."

"Where to?" asked the Officer.

McManus moved off, looking back at Beecher. "Em City. We can mop up the blood later," and left exasperated.

His arm aching through the scant pain relief he'd been given, Toby preceded the escort out of the emergency room and, passing through the ward, O'Riely saw him. "Fuck Beecher! Where's Cyril? Is he alright?" trying to get out of bed.

"Relax, O'Riely," he called back. "I keep 'my' word," and left hearing the litany of 'fucks' coming from the man.

Damn! Ryan really needed to get out of here. He was forced to lie back at the pulling in his side. Who was he kidding? He wasn't ready yet to contend out there and settled back to wait until they brought Cyril back tonight, no doubt full of how wonderful Beecher was again. Beecher better not be lying to him.

==000==

Alvarez looked down at Cyril. So he wasn't the only one that rocked and cried. Shit! He hoped he'd never looked that pathetic but guessed he probably had. He was pacing the Pod, arms wrapped tight. He wanted to puke.

Beecher had been bleeding as they'd dragged him away, his fleece sleeve flapping from the slash. Was he coming back or was he to be in the Hole for weeks? God, he hoped not. He was anxious enough himself and they'd shoved Cyril in here with him. It was not helping, especially as he started talking. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

Alvarez stared at him, open mouthed. He'd heard that before and it had come out of his own mouth. Truly he had no idea how Toby had put up with him. He never wanted to be like that again but could well remember how it felt. He patted Cyril on his shoulder. "Shush. It's okay. You've nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault." It didn't sound half as good coming from him as it did from Toby. "Don't cry. It's all right."

"But it's my fault Beecher got hurt. He pushed me out of the way and got hurt instead of Me," and started to cry all over again. But it wasn't Cyril's fault. It was Miguel's.

He'd started all this, well the latest rounds anyway. There had been a lull in Shillinger's and hence the Brotherhood's war against Toby and he wanting to stop it for good had caused all this. He sat heavily on the bunk and feeling ridiculous, put an arm around Cyril and pushed the hair back from his face. "It's okay. Cyril, it'll be alright. It's not your fault."

He had a thought, as Cyril seemed to be a mirror of how he had been, was, so perhaps he thought the same things. "Beecher's your friend. He won't blame you. He won't be angry with you," and patted his arm then froze. What the hell?

Suddenly, he had a sobbing man against his chest, holding onto him, clutching at him. "Oh, Toby," he said softly and slowly wrapped his arms around Cyril. Surely he could find a bit of that sympathy, give him some of that comfort that Toby had shown him so much of. He began almost unconsciously to rock him and Cyril finally began to calm down.

Whatever happened, if Toby was to return or not, he guessed Cyril would be here until 'Lights Out' again and was surprised that he didn't experience the resentment he had the night before. Cyril O'Riely was like he was due to being hit over the back of the head with a lectern causing brain damage. What was his own excuse? He propped his chin on Cyril's blond head and continued to rock him, patting him lightly and once more realised just how much he loved Tobias Beecher. He didn't just love him. He was in love with him.

Looking out of the Pod, he saw a couple of Hacks laughing at them. They weren't going to drag him away for this, they were all used to seeing Ryan have to do something similar. One of them tapped on the Plexiglas, "Hey, O'Riely. Thought you were still in the Hospital Ward," and moved off. Alvarez didn't think it funny. He pulled back Cyril's hair, looking at his face but didn't think that he'd heard. He just held him tighter and put his chin back on the head then closing his eyes, waited, just as Toby had.

As the man himself stood outside the Pod, having the cuffs removed at last, he found it hard to take in what he was seeing. Alvarez now had his right cheek on Cyril's head and looked content. Maybe it was due to having to be the strong, comforting one for a change. He didn't know but he did know that his heart skipped a beat once again watching him. He had to do something to protect this man who held his heart so securely from the mess that he'd made. He didn't have time to think on the idea that occurred to him as the door hissed open and he was shoved inside to be met by two differing expressions.

Cyril's was joyous, jumping up to welcome back his friend but it was the other that went to his core. If he'd ever doubted that Miguel loved him, he would no more. Those eyes gazing up at him told him all as the man calmly sat there. Disentangling a bouncing Cyril, wincing at the pain in his arm, he waited for the Hacks to leave then stretched forwards to lightly run his fingertips down Alvarez' cheek, smiling as he lilted his head into the touch.

"You're okay. You're okay"

"Yes, Cyril," laughing, "I'm fine. Now please sit down," and he pushed him down onto his footlocker, still smiling.

He happily sat there, turning to Alvarez, "Miguel! You were right. He's not angry at me."

Beecher looked from one to the other. Alvarez just blinked slowly, feeling embarrassed but had to smile slightly at the look Toby was giving him. He got to his feet to stand in front of Beecher and looking at his torn sleeve, pushed the fleece from his shoulders, taking it off, careful of his damaged arm then stood, not quite sure what to do with it. Toby took it from his hand and threw it to the floor by the door. He would need a new one or maybe he should cut the sleeves off and start to dress like the man studying him so intently, his fingers touching his arm, looking at the bandage.

Miguel didn't like seeing the blood on the man's T-shirt and began to pull it up and off as Toby raised his arms. He winced as Toby winced but managed to get it off and threw it on top of the fleece. Still moving so slowly, he gently caught hold of the arm and bent to put a light heartfelt kiss on the bandage on the left biceps. Then he just stood there looking into those clear bright eyes and felt fingertips on his left cheek, running over the stitches. Placing his parted lips on Toby's mouth, he closed his eyes and gave him a gentle kiss. Just lips kissing his, the bottom one, the top, no urgency, no questing, just enjoying the sensation of Toby's lips caught delicately between his own.

A noise intruded and they both turned to look at Cyril. He must have seen something down the side of Beecher's footlocker by the wall and was unsuccessfully trying to get it out. "Damn," said Beecher looking at Miguel's mouth and he broke away. He would have to find a new hiding place. It wasn't a very clever one but Alvarez stayed away from his stuff as if he shouldn't touch.

"Cyril. Get up and move the box," and on doing so, pulled out a couple of bright lollypops and looked expectantly at Beecher. "Ask Alvarez. They're his."

Miguel felt that he could weep for the sweetness of Toby pandering to his sweet tooth. He nodded at Cyril's pleading face, "But just one. I want the other," and held out a hand.

Cyril kept changing his mind which colour he wanted and Beecher laughed as he watched Alvarez trying to snatch one, also laughing. It was like watching happy children at play, he thought.

Anguished he looked away, leaning on the bunk with a hand over his mouth, hoping neither of the _men_, he reminded himself, would notice.

==000==

TBC…


	31. Chapter 31

Miguel had been thinking of something simple he could do for Toby and remembered how the first time he'd truly taken him he'd been acting as if continuing from where they'd been interrupted by Ryan. So as Cyril left the Pod, Miguel stretched across the top bunk, resting his left cheek on his arm then just stood waiting, thankful that there were no more O'Riely brothers. There was an appreciative laugh from behind him and as the lights went out, soon had hands gently holding him by the waist.

Now alone, as he stretched out enjoying the feel of his satisfyingly tired body, he knew how mistaken he had been. He'd thought that he would need Beecher to ram into him hard and repeatedly to dispel the ghostly feel of Robson but during what had gloriously felt like hours, Toby had caressed and coaxed from him a shuddering response time and time again. Toby had been gentle but passionate, being considerate to his body but would not stop touching him.

He'd been relaxed stood waiting and found that he didn't need to make his body melt as hands slid up his sides then down into his jeans, his response had been automatic.

His smile down at Beecher had been natural as the man laughed in response to him hitting his head for the third time on the bunk above while leaning back, supporting himself on Beecher's slightly raised knees. Moving his hips, moving himself on the man's prick within him, he'd had to stretch out his left leg as the stitches pulled in his thigh only to hit his head yet again as Beecher used his free hand, the one not 'playing' with his cock, his balls, to actually tickle the sole of his foot.

In revenge he'd pinched Toby's nipple, hard, grinning at the surprised gasp. He was glad now he still wore the bandanna, preventing his hair snagging in the under wiring. Earlier he'd gone to remove the cloth but Toby had told him, "No, leave it. I like it. Kinda looks cute." He had frowned in indignation but seeing the crocked grin, relented and grinned back.

Now, Miguel just wanted to drift off into sleep but the stitches were itching, driving him mad. The tugging in his thigh, on his cheek as he smiled were the one discordant note also pulling at his mind but he'd been careful not to let Toby see these thoughts, his doubts. He hadn't wanted to put a shadow on Beecher's enjoyment of him. It was another two days before he was due back at the Hospital but surely if he went on the morrow they would take them out?

Rubbing a hand across his face he snagged the paper stitches, which had already began to come away, and had a flash of how he had gotten them. So instead of pleasant dreams, he turned over and concentrated on visions of revenge, the beginnings of a plan forming before the other thoughts he dreaded could invade his mind once more.

On the bunk above, Beecher was also thinking hard. He was so relieved that Alvarez had accepted his touch and, more importantly to him, had appeared to enjoy his attentions. He smiled ruefully. He had to ensure that they could have many more nights like this in the future and one thing Beecher had going for him was that he had money.

In this place, just as on the outside, the promise of greenbacks could get you most of, if not anything, you wanted and decided that he was not past a bit of bribery and corruption.

==000==

The cocky Homeboy delivering his food had been slow today as Robson managed to catch his tray, passed through the slot, before it hit the floor. Sitting, he took a massive bite from the flat burger, relishing the taste of clean food and, on chewing, began to choke.

Coughing, spitting out the food, he picked out what had been so indigestible. Studying them in the dim light he swore copiously. Strips of blue and white fabric stained with rust brown and, recognising the source, instantly cursed again.

If this was in his food, what else could there be? Swilling his mouth out, he then knocked back the drink. Fuck! He moved to hover over the bucket and forced himself to puke. Sitting back, wiping his mouth, he cursed yet again. He could be in here for anything up to and over three more weeks. Well, he guessed, he could afford to lose a little weight, but he would be forced to eat, to drink something soon.

What Robson needed now was a change of Hacks down here. There wasn't a single one who would speak with him, let alone be sympathetic to helping him. When was the next rotation he wondered? He hadn't got a clue what had been happening out there, but whatever, he hazarded, Beecher was still about. He didn't think the fabric shreds had come from Alvarez, being pretty sure that the last thing _he'd_ want to do was remind Robson that he existed.

He began to grin then as he began to get hard. Well, he had nothing else to do, so stretching out on the floor, he began to wank himself to visions running through his mind of what he was going to do to the 'widow' once he'd gotten rid of Beecher. After that blade coming so close to opening up his belly, he'd changed his mind.

Tobias Beecher had to die.

==000==

The nurse had agreed that his stitches were ready to come out but he would have to wait so, sitting, he thought to ask about Bob. He attempted to get Brusmalis' attention but the man just stood there leaning on his brush, staring at the floor. "Hey! Brusmalis!" but he had to call three times more before Agamemnon made his way over. "How's Rebadow?" He was beginning to like the pair, Toby did and it was this man's before him tunnel that had gotten him outside for those amazing months after all.

"Bobs' gone."

"Oh? I didn't see him in Em City."

"No," Brusmalis looked at him lost, "He's dead."

"¡¿Qué? When? How?" Alvarez was shocked. That old man had seemed eternal. Oh, Fuck. Please not due to him, not in revenge for his part in the poisoning.

Brusmalis removed his hat and scratched slowly at his head. "He just went. Early this morning. Natural causes."

"Are they sure?"

"Yes...He just went."

Alvarez felt relief that he wasn't ultimately responsible for Bob's death. It would have been more likely. Few men here died of natural causes. He thought of his Grandfather, if it could be considered natural, dying alone, locked in a small grey cell. He'd died in mind long before his body stopped in the hospital ward. He shook his head dispelling the image of when the man had last spoken to him, over two years after his death.

"I'm sorry, man." It was so lame, so useless but he didn't know what he could say. Brusmalis nodded dejectedly.

"Alvarez," and he was called away for attention.

==000==

It was a subdued group at lunch and Alvarez wanted to put his arms around Beecher as he was taking the news badly. That was why he tended to sit opposite from him. He always wanted to hold onto Beecher. Brusmalis said he would dedicate his latest tunnel to his friend although he couldn't name it for him as they had to have female names. Then threw his fork down looking worried.

"But who am I gonna be sharing with now? Who do you think?" looking at the others in turn. It was too much to ask that he'd be left on his own for a while. "Maybe I could talk to McManus? Have Cyril move in for a while? Would you like that?" asking the man as he leaned around Beecher.

"Want to stay with Ryan," as if he would say anything else.

"Trust Me," said Alvarez under his breath to Brusmalis, "You don't want Cyril." He didn't want him moving in next door himself. He could imagine Cyril would spend the time staring through at Beecher but he was a touch worried himself. Would the new neighbour cause trouble for them where as the two old men had turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to their nocturnal activities?

He caught the look from Beecher at his comment and ducked his head, glancing at Cyril but was sure he hadn't heard or pretended he hadn't. Toby had come to like one, if not the other, O'Riely brother and he felt an, even if irrational, touch of jealousy. Beecher's dislike of Ryan aside, Alvarez still needed the man.

He would have to be much more circumspect. Toby would find out that he was spending time with the Irishman but he wouldn't rub his face in it. But there was no way that he could stop now. Beecher was correct. He'd started a war and he had need of Ryan's help. O'Riely would be able to think of what he could do, he was more devious than anyone else he'd ever met.

Possibly reading his mind, Beecher asked Brusmalis, "Any idea when O'Riely's coming back?" Alvarez concentrated on his food.

"A few more days I should think. Why?"

"Oh, no reason." Tobias noticed Cyril looking uncomfortable and asked him, "What's up? Won't you be glad when your brother gets back?"

"Yes, but..."

Beecher leaned in closer so they could speak quietly, "What is it Cyril?" Cyril looked at his hands in his lap. He'd also noticed that he'd taken to wearing his kerchief all the time too now and not just when he was sparring in the gym.

"You want to get rid of me."

"No. Cyril, that's not true. When Ryan gets back, you can still come see me."

Cyril's face flooded with a smile but then he looked at Alvarez, his smile slipping. He went back to eating.

Beecher had seen the glance and the slight change. Something he didn't know about must have happened between the two, possibly the day before when Cyril believed that he'd upset Alvarez or later, but then Miguel had been comforting the blond man. Had something gone on this morning? It didn't make sense.

Beecher hoped Ryan would be back soon to take charge of Cyril. Also Ryan O'Riely owed him. Not only for putting up with Cyril, although he'd found it less and less of a chore, but he owed him for Alvarez. O'Riely was going to help him dispose of Robson if he liked it or not but was pretty sure he would be more than willing.

He wished that Miguel would stop hiding his face from him. He was sat there now, leaning on his left hand, almost like he was saluting, covering his cheek, his eyes. So the new line was livid but he didn't care. He wanted to look at his face, all of it and the current attitude did not speak of confidence with him purposefully not looking at anyone.

Bending down, as if he had an itch, he lightly clasped Miguel's leg. Shit. The man jerked, losing his forkful of food over the table, as he looked up startled, looked up scared.

'Fuck' people were looking at him. "Cramp," he grinned and sat up straighter, not wanting to catch Beecher's eye. He stretched his leg out again, found Beecher's and rubbed, trying to let him know that he was sorry but he'd taken him by surprise. His eyes lost focus and it took repeated attempts by Beecher, knocking his leg, to get it back. Not hungry anymore, Alvarez returned his attention back to his tray and continued to eat, ensuring that he ate all his vegetables. He didn't need another lecture off Cyril who was sat looking around at everything.

The sympathy and patience Miguel had discovered for the longhaired man had begun to wear rapidly this morning. Hill had abandoned them as soon as he got back from the ward and the questions had started. If only Miss Sally's schoolyard was on all day. The puppets still kept Cyril entertained but Alvarez had found over the last few weeks his interest waning. He'd wondered about it for a while. He'd always enjoyed her antics just as did the rest of the crowd in here, well most of them. But it had become obvious. She wasn't Beecher.

About a fortnight ago he'd spent time looking at the men around him. Did he, he wanted to know, find any of them attractive? Could he imagine doing anything with any of them? Not that he would, he belonged to Beecher and Beecher alone. He knew which men he thought good looking and which not but then he always had, although it was more sizing up of the competition.

He had studied faces, asses, the way they moved, handled themselves but no, he wasn't interested in any of them. They weren't Beecher. No one, male or female interested him. Just Beecher. This wasn't a matter of changing his sexuality, didn't in fact think that that was possible. He had just found Beecher or rather Beecher had found him.

Sure the sex was great, or had been. It had been such a long time since he'd felt hands on him, working him other than his own and he relished the feel as Toby touched him in anyway.

He had a twinge of guilt thinking of Lopresti but he'd known as soon as he was out that all he thought he'd felt for him was a lie. He'd just wanted to survive. He had been told once that statistically most men were Bi to some extent but had taken it as just an attempt to get into his pants.

But the main reason that he'd enjoyed the sex with Toby, after he found he could do it, was that it brought Beecher pleasure and that's what really did it for him. Even last night, yes it had been good, but it was Toby's passion and obvious enjoyment of him that he had relished way more than his body's own reactions. Now he was sore again, his body aching but it was Toby that he could feel.

He squirmed on the bench as his prick also began to think of Toby too. He didn't know what would happen tonight as the lights went out but right now he just wanted to sleep through it. If Toby wanted him again he could have him no question, sore or not. Please could it, could _he_, return to how it was before the ra... before, when he'd craved being taken, being used often and hard by the man now watching him.

Beecher _was_ watching him, watching his face. Whatever he was thinking had brought a puzzled look followed by a slight smile and a softening and then it vanished. Toby was afraid he knew what he was thinking of now. 'You will be alright. You will survive this,' wishing that he had the power to make it so.

==000==

TBC…


	32. Chapter 32

He continued to read as he had been asked to again even though Alvarez had fallen asleep about an hour ago. Cyril was trying to look interested but kept fidgeting although his eyes remained on him. He stopped reading and looked at Cyril, a slight frown clouding his face. Cyril looked so expectantly back at him that he worried he was becoming too attached to him. But surely once his brother was up and about all his attention would revert to Ryan?

Beecher wanted it to be soon because, although he was confident Robson would be getting pretty hungry by now, no doubt he would be driven to eat something soon and apart from the occasional strips of fabric, there wasn't anything else added to the food. Except the odd ground up laxative of course. His intention was not for the man to die in the 'Hole'. He would not starve, people could survive longer than three weeks or so if they drank, especially someone as big and healthy as Robson. No, he wanted him weakened.

Beecher wanted to see him die, not just hear about it. He needed O'Riely because he needed bait. Alvarez was out of the question and it would be wrong to risk the not, but seemingly, innocent man sat on the floor by his feet and besides he did like him. He liked his simplicity and his trusting nature if not the responsibility. But the other brother? He now seethed inside just thinking about the man.

"Beecher?"

"Cyril?"

"Why don't you like my brother?"

Fuck. Could the man read his mind? "Why do you ask?" looking straight at him, seeing no embarrassment or nervousness, just an open and honest countenance.

"When I say my brother's name your eyes go mean. Don't you like him cause Alvarez does?"

Beecher groaned internally, not this again, but he also made a note to keep an extra check on his reactions. Cyril had noticed something he was unaware of. He hadn't thought he could be read so easily, not anymore. "Alvarez likes Ryan in a different way than he likes me. I thought you knew that?"

"So why don't you like him?" He seamed to be careful not to say his name, wary of Beecher's reactions.

He himself had reached the conclusion days ago that the only way to stop Cyril's questions was to answer them with the truth. "You do know, don't you, that your brother does a lot of...business?" Seeing the nod, he continued, "Sometimes his business can be dangerous."

"My brother's always fighting."

"Yes. And often he needs help. He gets Alvarez to help him and that puts him in danger too." He looked at Miguel, sure that he was still sleeping, but had spoken quietly just in case. Not that Miguel shouldn't hear this, but he doubted he would appreciate being discussed with Cyril who he sensed he felt some animosity for. "And that is what makes me angry. I don't want Alvarez to be hurt."

By his face it was certain Cyril was thinking something over. He thought he'd been plain enough. "So it's my brother's fault that he and Alvarez were in the hospital?" confused.

Damn! For that was actually not Ryan's fault. "Cause if you think that you're wrong. He told me."

"Who did? Ryan?"

Shaking his head, Cyril pointed at the figure stretched out on the bunk then went back to watching Beecher. Just what had passed between them? What had Miguel told him? About his plan gone awry? He doubted it. "So whose fault was it?"

"That man. The mean one in the bad room."

The mean one. Did he mean Robson in the hole? Beecher had to remind himself that Cyril knew a lot more than he ever let on.

"He got the other two to stab Ryan. Ryan told me that." He looked angry then sad. "They hurt Alvarez too."

"Did Ryan tell you how?" The shaking of the head, again pointing.

"Miguel told you that?" he was surprised.

"No….. But that's what he meant. Said it wasn't Ryan they did it to." Beecher's face had gone hard again. Now he'd managed to make his friend angry. He shot out hoping it would help, "But he didn't like it. He told me he didn't like it. Not like when you do it! He likes it when you...'fuck him in the ass', he said that." Cyril did not like the way Beecher was looking at him, his eyes got wet and he tried not to but began to cry.

Beecher wasn't sure why Cyril had become so upset, so he moved to put his arms around him as he'd had to do several times before. "Hush now. It's alright. Why are you crying?" Rocking him, tucking that hair back into the kerchief. It seemed to him to have a life of its own, always falling into his face unnoticed.

"I didn't mean to make you angry."

"I'm not angry at you. Look at me. It's not you. You've done nothing wrong." Cyril looked at him, his eyes so hopeful. It reminded him so much of how Miguel had been but he had gotten 'better', more confident, but Cyril never would. "It's the man in the 'Hole' I'm angry at. He hurt your brother and my…. and Alvarez. Don't cry. It's not you," and actually kissed his cheek before he realised what he was doing.

So he managed to calm Cyril down before the Hack came to take him reluctantly away. Frowning Beecher sat on his footlocker, wondering when he would be able to stop saying the same things over and over again. He was watching Alvarez's sleeping face as the lights went out.

"You didn't think that did you?"

Beecher grinned, "How long have you been awake? How much did you hear?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"It doesn't deserve an answer. You already know."

Alvarez rose up on his elbows and Beecher slid off the locker to kneel by him, hand on his belly. Miguel leant over to meet him in a kiss as torchlight found them. Beecher retreated back to the footlocker looking out. That Bastard was back. He watched in disgust the mocking smile on the man's face as he moved away.

Just what had he done for Lopreski to plague him so much? He'd hardly anything to do with the man but he seemed determined to stop him and Miguel from touching. "Fuckin' Bastard," and sighing, gazed back at Miguel who had turned over, face now buried in the pillow. "I guess we could do with a good nights sleep anyway," said lightly though he didn't feel it.

Alvarez rolled, propped up onto his side facing him but looking down at his hand plucking at the blanket under him, "If you say so."

"And Miguel? What do you say?" He just shrugged in response. So it was still all up to him. It was way past time Miguel got over this strange idea of their roles in this. Beecher still hadn't worked out where he'd gotten it from in the first place. How to approach the subject without upsetting him? He had been through enough but had been doing well as so much of his confidence had returned and his self-esteem. Yes, he'd suffered a dramatic, nay traumatic, blow, but Beecher knew that confident, wary and capable man was still in there somewhere. And he wanted him back.

Be plain, honest. "Alvarez, I'm sick of this. You're always looking to me to decide what to do. Talk or not. Have sex or not. Everything in fact!" He could have phased it better as Alvarez was staring at him in shock but he had to put an end to this submissiveness in him. It was not what he wanted. He never had.

Oh Fuck! Shit. Toby had never called him Alvarez before, had always used his given name. He was sick of him, the responsibility of him. Miguel had always dreaded that his dependency on the man would prove too much and Beecher had obviously decided he wasn't worth the effort anymore.

But what of last night? Beecher had had him so many times, convincing him he was not spoilt, that he still wanted him. Had he just being making use of him for the last time, already having decided? He started shaking his head in denial. "…. ¿Por qué?" in a small voice, wanting to know why he didn't want him any more. But he had just been given the reasons.

Please don't let it be so. Should he beg Beecher not to cast him aside? But that was the problem, he was fed up with him being so weak, so reliant on him. He wanted to cry but had vowed Toby would not have to see him like that again and if it was true, if he were to be cast adrift alone, he would not become a sobbing wreck validating the man's decision. He would just leave.

He had the stash of anti depressants he'd stopped taking once Toby had found him. He'd thought he had no need of them and could use them to get an overdose into one of the men on his list possibly. Now he would use them on himself because, he was weak. He could not bear to be without Toby. Once he had left him, gone to sleep, he would leave this place.

Beecher realised he'd indeed phased it badly but had thought that Miguel had stopped taking everything he said in the extreme. He was obviously wrong. "Miguel. Please stop this." He knelt once more stretching out a hand towards the frightened man curled up tight against the wall, hands covering his face. "Don't do this. Not again. Miguel. We have to sort this out. I don't think I can take it much longer. Why do you make me spend so much time and energy just getting through to you, reassuring you when all I want is to love you? Be with you, for us to enjoy being together?"

He was telling Miguel the thoughts that had been running through his head. He knew he was probably being inconsiderate talking about what he wanted and not what Miguel needed but he was so tired of this. He'd seen what he wanted, what he'd had for such a brief period of time and desperately longed for it back. He would not accept that someone could take it away from him. Not again and not by using Alvarez in such away. To take from him also what he had found.

"You don't want me anymore." Sad, quiet but controlled. "I understand."

"No. No you don't. You..."

"Your sick of Me. You just said so," and Toby never said anything he didn't mean.

His face emerged from the hands looking at him. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes so yearning it did it to him every time. "Oh no, Miguel. Never! But I will tell you what I am sick and tired of. I am tired of this idea of yours that you belong to me as if you're some possession. You're not a Prag!"

"But I am. You claimed me. I told you," stated just a fact, no anger, just honesty. Why could Beecher never understand that?

"Only in the same way that you claimed me."

Alvarez looked confused and about to deny it, so Tobias put his fingers to his lips to still him. "I belong to you just as much. When I look into your eyes, I feel I could fall forever." He stroked that face, so beautiful to him. "Won't you understand finally? I want to be _with_ you. Because it's you. Not because I want a Bitch, or an available body. It's you, Miguel Alvarez, that I want to be with. It's you, Miguel Alvarez, that I love." Those eyes were staring at him as if he was desperately trying to believe. "Why can't you believe me? Why can't you accept what it is I want to be for you, to you? What's happened that made you unable to except that I do love you. That I want you for who you are?" and continued to stroke his face, his lips.

Miguel was trying so hard to hold back his tears though he wanted to cry with joy. He did believe Beecher, the man had never lied to him. He knew he did love him. He would never have told him if he didn't but he couldn't understand why. He didn't deserve it. That someone like Tobias Beecher should love someone like him, he could just not fathom.

On a sob he could not contain he told him, "Oh, Toby. I so want to be strong for you like you want me to be." He repeated the man's actions to stop him speaking, watching his own fingers move on the smooth cheeks. "Don't pretend. I know you do and so do I… but it's so hard. And I'm scared 'cause I also know I dun't deserve you."

It all tumbled out. Moments before he thought himself discarded with nothing left to lose, so what harm now to tell this man all that he felt and, if then he did still want him, maybe he could accept it. "You're so strong and that first time you held me, I knew I could be safe. I wanted so much to be safe, to be able to lean on someone else's strength as I had none. I was losing it all. I couldn't fight anymore and you saved me. You held me up.

"I know I'm Fucked up. There's something wrong in my head. No! You always want me to talk so let me now. All I wanted to do is make you happy. That's why you can do anything you want to me. I told you. It didn't matter if I didn't like it if you fucked me as long as you liked it. But I do!" seeing the shock on Beecher's face. "I'd never wanted a man to touch me again but I love you to touch me, fuck me, 'cause it's you. Everything I have done I've done to make you happy, keep you interested in me. I had to keep you safe 'n' I fucked that up too, just like everything I've tried to do. I'm so sorry. I just want to make you happy but all I've done is make you trouble."

Miguel couldn't look at him any more, didn't dare to see the expression on his face. He was picking at the blanket again, wanting to grab hold of the motionless man who had taken his hand off him. "I do believe that you love me but I don't understand why. How you can. I think that's why I love you so much. So much sometimes it hurts inside. I don't know. All I do know is without you wanting me, I'm nothing. That's why I belong to you. Why I _want_ to belong to you. You own me. Even if you never want to touch me again, you will still own me."

He could say nothing more. He had uncurled as he spoke and now he buried his face in the pillow once more, waiting to see what his fate would be. Waiting for Beecher to either keep or throw him away.

Tobias was stunned. He'd never heard Miguel speak so openly, baring his soul. In fact, no one had ever told him so much. Once again, Alvarez had shown him his whole, naked and raw, this time with words. About to reach for him, he heard the approaching footsteps and moved back onto the footlocker, scrubbing at his cheeks before the light found him.

Alvarez was waiting for an answer and he needed it now. The Hack moved off but Beecher remained seated. This was a time for words just as honest, to leave himself as open as Miguel had done.

"Then you own me too. You've claimed me just as much as you think I've claimed you. Every time you put your trust in me. Every time you put your hand in mine. Every time you touch me, I know I'm yours. You say you don't understand why or how I can love you. I can't say. Maybe it's the way you look at me, that you chose me to be the one to put your trust in. That I felt you calling to me, needing me." He smiled, "Or maybe it's just that you like lollypops. I don't know.

"No one can ever understand why they fall in love, it just happens. It happened to me. I admit I didn't realise it until you were nearly taken from me. But for whatever reason, I do love you and I want you. The way that you walk, the way you move. The way your jeans are always too big and hang from your hips. The way you have of standing, hand on belly, knowing exactly what it does to me. The shape, the feel of your butt when I hold you to me tight. Your hands on my shoulders, your face tucked in my neck. The way you always seem so surprised when you cum."

He was talking to himself as much as to Miguel, watching his hands, fingers playing just as the Latino's did. "That look in your eyes when you want to be kissed and yes, even the way you suck those damn lollypops you like so much. I love that, I love it all and its all you." He smiled to himself thinking and I want it, I want it all back. The last ran on in his head interrupted as a rose inked hand covered his, stilling the movement, and he looked into those eyes as Alvarez knelt before him.

Taking a hand from the loose grasp, he ran a finger along the edge of Miguel's kerchief. 'It does look cute,' he thought and his fingers followed his eyes, his thoughts. 'That face, I love to look at that face. Those eyes, so beautiful to me. That slightly crocked nose. The cheeks, even the scars and those lips. Those lips I just want to crush with mine.'

"Then do it."

Beecher looked back up into Miguel's eyes which were telling him of his love for him. He hadn't realised that he had been speaking his list aloud. He grinned crookedly, feeling embarrassed as he then watched his thumb playing with those lips as they parted to allow access.

Miguel closed his eyes to enjoy. He'd missed this possibly the most, Toby playing with his lips, his mouth, but hesitated to suck it in, to capture the digit, remembering what he'd done the last time. He moved his hands to lie on Toby's thighs as he knelt up and leant in towards him, licking at the thumb as it ran along his lower teeth.

Beecher was mesmerised yet again and wished the lights were on so that he could clearly see his face as he tilted Miguel's head back. Then he could take no more as he felt his thumb being gently bitten. He removed it thumb hearing a sigh of loss and, cradling the back of the man's head, pulled him in and did indeed crush those lips to his own.

He could not resist pushing his other hand down onto that butt as he'd told him and felt those hands move to hold onto his shoulders, so tight. He encircled the man's arched back, and standing, pulled him up with him, never breaking the kiss. Beecher felt lashes brushing his own his cheek as Miguel kept opening and closing his eyes. Beecher kept his closed, not really just that he couldn't focus that close but he wanted to be lost in the sensation of Miguel's tongue fucking his mouth.

He used both hands inside his jeans to pull that so tight butt up and Miguel to him even tighter. Breaking the kiss, licking his lips, Alvarez glance behind him and then began to pull Beecher to his favourite place against the back wall.

Toby smiled. It was as if he had lost all sense of direction and had to check before manoeuvring him awkwardly as neither let up on the grip. Once hitting the wall, Alvarez buried his face in his neck this time knowing Toby loved it but he couldn't keep still. He kissed the pulse point, sucked lightly at the soft flesh as his hands took to roaming, urging Toby on although the hands kneading his ass so hard needed little encouragement. Beecher pulled back. "Oh, Miguel. You know we can't. It's not safe with that bastard, Lopreski after us."

"I. Don't. Care!" he sounded vengeful and his hands were at Beecher's jeans, swiftly unbuttoning them and Toby felt a hand fingering his already attentive cock. Alvarez looked back up at him, biting that lip as he began to stroke him. Beecher retrieved his hands, breathed into his ear laughingly, "Alright, but we'll have to be quick okay?" Miguel kissed him hard in answer. Laughing in delight Beecher stood back removing Miguel's hand and bent to get the lube from deep in his locker.

Standing, turning back, he thought that's new. Alvarez had stripped off his top and had already turned to the wall, watching and as Beecher turned, pushed his jeans down. Leaning his forearms on the wall, he twisted to watch his every move.

As Beecher placed his hands on Miguel's hips, he leant his forehead on his hands and gasped out in pleasure as he felt the prick enter him. Yes, it was quick with Beecher pumping him rapidly but it was happening. It hurt somewhat as he was still sore from the night before but he saw it as Toby burning his presence into him, reclaiming him. He heard a chuckle in his ear as, gasping, he shuddered, emptying himself onto the wall then felt a couple more pushes as Toby released deep inside him.

Miguel loved it when Toby rested his weight on him as he was now with his arms holding onto his chest, head on his shoulder and breathing deeply. It was the only time he could imagine what it was like for someone to need his strength as it was so hard to remember what it had been like when people looked to him to be in charge, in control. A kiss to the back of his neck and Beecher withdrew, stepping back. Alvarez slowly pulled up his jeans and turned to lean his shoulders back against the wall. Beecher stood waiting and a smile spread across his face as he realised Miguel was not going to launch at him, to thank him.

Miguel returned the smile and, looking steadily up at him through lashes, it turned mischievous as left hand on belly, he beckoned Beecher with a finger.

He sauntered to stand an inch from him, "You called?" and Miguel did engulf him but pulling him onto himself as he ran a hand through his hair then, grasping hold, pulled his head to the side, kissing his neck, his jaw, working his way up to speak in his ear, "Never kiss Cyril O'Riely again!" then clamped onto his mouth.

Smiling, Alvarez let him go. He knew that they was a great risk of being caught. Toby had risked just to do as he wanted. He had to let him go, for now.

Toby ran the back of his fingers down Miguel's cheek and saw the dipping of the eyes, the smile on the lips then moved to the sink, stripped and washed, getting ready to turn in. He wasn't encumbered by a hand holding onto him this time but had to do it under close scrutiny. He smiled down at the man now on his footlocker. "What is it?"

Alvarez shrugged but spoke, "I love to look at you too."

'Normally when you think I don't notice,' Toby thought, sure this time to keep it to himself. Instead he did what he was certain now Miguel liked, he ran the back of his fingers down his cheek then still smiling, hopped up onto his bunk, lying propped up as Alvarez moved almost silently around the Pod. It was his turn to watch.

Miguel was nervous, he knew Toby was watching him but could say nothing, he could do as he wanted after all and he'd done the same. He had already dared a lot, had almost expected to be hit for forbidding Beecher anything. He might still just ignore him. That's why he'd kissed him so hard, trying to convince him that he didn't need Cyril when he already had him.

Stripped and clean, he finally removed his kerchief, rubbing a hand to ruffle up his hair. Climbing in, he lay on his back thinking on what Toby had said, that he belonged to Miguel just as much. Staring up he said softly, "Beecher?"

Toby smiled, so there was to be a question after sex once more? "Yeah?"

"Its not supposed to look cute!" and Miguel turned over, snuggling down and smiling at the laughter coming from above.

Beecher was delighted. So now finally, could Alvarez be beginning to look on him as an equal? A partner? He'd even forbidden him to kiss Cyril, not that he wanted to, had not intentionally done it. He'd already decided it a mistake.

He relaxed thinking over what Miguel had said to him. It had only been the second time he'd ever heard him string more than a few words together and hoped that now he would speak to him more. Especially at times when they were not under stress.

He was falling asleep, smiling at the trust Miguel had once more placed in him with his words and the love. His eyes sprang open.

'Miguel had never wanted a man to touch him again.' Again?

==000==

TBC...


	33. Chapter 33

Miguel hadn't shaken him awake the last morning or this one. Instead Beecher awoke to a stroking of his hair, secure enough in these new circumstances not to feel threatened as before. As he mumbled a, "Good morning," the fingers were replaced by a kiss to his cheek making him smile.

Beecher got to spend the whole morning with him as Sister Pete, having a full appointment book, had asked him not to come to the office until after lunch. He hadn't told Miguel and smiled at the concern shown that he would get into trouble for staying with him and not going to his work assignment. He relented and told him laughingly only to receive a shove then a smile at the teasing.

"You think if I asked, McManus would give me my orderly job back? I need something to do."

Beecher shrugged. He doubted it but said, "No harm in asking."

All morning Alvarez had stuck close to him but he could see the easy confidence and charm beginning to resurface. He still kept touching him often which, he admitted, he kind of liked but his other anxiety he found ridiculous and more than annoying. Beecher had decided he needed to speak to Cyril to try and find out exactly what the problem was between the two men. He had a vague idea but it was so absurd, but then to Alvarez it could be a different matter. He thought he would have more chance of getting an honest answer from the O'Riely brother, as Alvarez had been evasive and reticent so he had left it.

As the morning progressed though, he found he didn't need to ask, even if he could have gotten Cyril out of Miguel's earshot. His vague suspicion became plain as Alvarez continually interposed himself between them. If Beecher hadn't relished his closeness, he would have been angry. Miguel acted as if he was oblivious to his actions but the repeated brush of his butt, his hips against him, was driving Beecher mad for other reasons.

In the laundry room he could stand it no longer and it was not lost on Cyril either who sat at the end of the bank of washers practically in a sulk. Even with the distance between Toby and the man he saw as a threat, Alvarez still stayed between them, staying physically close to Beecher.

Miguel wanted him to know that he was there and that he didn't need anyone else, no matter how much the other 'threw' himself at him. He was fairly certain Beecher was not really interested in Cyril but he couldn't afford to take the chance. He had to stop anyone else from coming close to him. He needed him too much. All to himself. Alvarez was unwilling to share and although he didn't have any say, he would do all he could to keep Beecher to himself. He had no choice.

Beecher felt that he had two options as to how to deal with Miguel's actions. The first being impractical, if the more desirable, so he decided on the second.

Hand in the centre of the man's chest, he pushed Miguel back against the dryers none too gently. "Enough!" and hopped onto the machines facing the apparently confused man. He wasn't buying it. "And don't try pulling that one." Miguel let go of his bottom lip, looking down caught out. "One… I'm not the only one to notice your behaviour." He saw the quick check. "I'm not talking about Cyril."

Miguel sank into himself against the dryer, his arms coming up to wrap around his stomach. "Everyone already knows," small, quiet and defensive.

"Only that we fuck. Nothing else. Two… What ever problem you two have? Sort it out." He stared intensely at Miguel indicating with a finger in his eye line that he should look at him then in a steady voice to Alvarez, "_I_ do not believe you have one. Cyril's a friend." He turned and smiled reassuringly at the man, sure that he was only pretending not to be listening to them.

Back to Miguel. "And three… If you continue on like this, I shall no doubt be driven to doing something which will land us both in the Hole."

He grinned mischievously and, seeing the resulting blush begin to appear beneath the covering leer on the other man, he swung his legs over the machines and jumping down called back as he left, "Get it sorted and don't forget the conditioner." Then left to sit at a table by himself while keeping an eye on the laundry room.

Cyril wanted to follow. He was conscious of Alvarez' glances as he fiddled with the washer controls. Then he began to fidget as the man straightened, looking at him. He knew that this man didn't want him around but Ryan had told him to stay close to Beecher. He looked over his shoulder thinking he should go to the man but Beecher had said they should sort something out and Ryan had also said he should do what Beecher told him.

Now Alvarez was stood next to him. He looked up at him then down. He didn't like this. Why didn't he like him? He'd always liked Ryan's friend.

"Remember what I told you?"

Cyril nodded. " I told Ryan."

"Told him what?"

"That it wouldn't work." That made the man smile but Cyril thought it made him look nasty.

"What else did I tell you?"

There had been a lot and he didn't know which bit he wanted to hear. "Why don't you like me?"

"You're in the way." Alvarez was in no mood to be sensitive towards this man's feelings.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just leave Beecher alone. I told you, He's mine!"

This wasn't fair, "But he's my friend, an...and Ryan told me to stay close to Beecher."

Alvarez bent over at the waist, hands clenching behind his back as he spoke into the man's ear. "And I'm telling you, I'm his friend. He doesn't need you. So keep your dumb stupid your ass away from him." Then moved off to stand staring out of the window, arms folded, hoping that he'd made himself clear this time.

Cyril really wanted to leave now but that meant going past the mean man. He didn't think he liked him anymore so he sat and considered things. It wasn't fair. Nothing had been fair since he'd had to come to this horrible place. He wanted himself and Ryan to go home back to Shannon who looked after them but Ryan said they couldn't and also he didn't want Shannon anymore. Not since he met that Doctor.

Cyril's mind wondered and he thought about his brother and that lady Doctor. Ryan said he loved her, that's why Cyril was here. He'd hurt her husband so she would like Ryan. Ryan hadn't wanted her to be with anyone else. He stared at the floor banging his feet against the washing machine.

The noise was putting Miguel's teeth on edge. He swung around to yell at him to stop just as it did, Cyril looking at him mouth open eyes wide. Cyril was scared.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Miguel hissed as Cyril sprang off the washer. No doubt running to Beecher as he headed towards the door. Cyril backed up and jammed himself into a corner, looking up at him cautiously.

Alvarez was feeling mean and had no patience for Cyril's tears. All his actions, trying to keep Beecher's attention on him and away from Cyril, had just made his jealously and uncertainty more obvious. In a way his attentions had worked. Beecher now knew he didn't want Cyril near him but he felt stupid. He should've just come straight out with it, told Toby he wasn't willing to share but had just made a fool of himself. He had been acting like a stupid little bitch in heat and possibly others had seen how pathetic he was, but worse, Toby had definitely noticed.

"What the fuck are you crying for now?" He looked back out of the window, trying to gain control of his growing anger. He knew it was at himself, but the sound of that snivelling was giving him a focus and he had to be careful not to take his frustration out on Cyril. But it was very tempting. He glanced around at the few people outside. At least there hadn't been many around to see his stupidity this morning but it only took one for the news to spread.

Movement caught his eye. Damn, Beecher was heading back this way. He wouldn't be happy that he'd somehow made Cyril cry. He moved across to him, trying to set his features to show concern he didn't feel and gently touched his arm. Cyril jumped. Alvarez ducked, peering up at him, catching his eyes. "Cyril. Why are you crying?" because honestly he didn't know. "I'm sorry if I sounded mean," he lied.

"Are you.. are you going to hurt me? Make me go to Heaven?"

That stumped him. "N..o!" he scoffed. "Why would you think that?" Beecher would never forgive him, Ryan would ensure he didn't last the day and he'd not actually thought of it.

"Coz Ryan got me to hurt Dr Nathan's husband because he was in the way."

Alvarez took a step back, then another. He'd just wanted Cyril to stay away from Beecher, to stop wanting him to touch him and now he'd really frightened the man and he hadn't meant to. Miguel had not managed to do that for a long time, frighten someone, to intimidate them. He felt vindicated that he still had some of that power in him then felt guilty, really guilty. Cyril was simple and easily frightened. He could feel no 'pride' at being able to intimidate him. He felt like shit. Fuck.

"I don't want you near Beecher. I want him all to myself. I don't like it when he touches you, holds you." 'Instead of me. That he might want you,' he thought. 'You cause him less trouble for a start'. "I wouldn't hurt you. You're right, Ryan's my friend and you're his brother. Beecher likes you and I lo...like him but I don't want him to do to you what he does to me. I want him to only do that to me. D'you understand?" This was hell, having to talk to the man like this but at least he'd stopped crying.

"No."

"Shit." Alvarez rubbed at his forehead in exasperation. He was no good at this honesty stuff. Revealing himself to Toby had been hard enough. Threatening hadn't done much good either so what now? He wanted to grab the man, shake some sense into him, nearly laughing at the irony.

"Cause I don't want him to do that. I don't like that. I told you," Cyril said with a hint of anger, reminiscent of his former self.

Alvarez did laugh at that. In relief. Cyril smiled, laughed too but was not really sure why, only that Alvarez didn't seem so mean now.

Surely Miguel could believe Cyril? He was too honest for his own good. He reached forwards and wiped the tears from Cyril's checks. He knew that if Cyril didn't want him to, Toby would never force himself onto the man and also deep down, he also knew that Toby wasn't interested in Cyril like that.

But he could be considered attractive, he supposed, and had thought that he was indeed after his man. He thought the phrase again, his man. Yes, Beecher was his man and that's why he'd been so worried at Cyril's proximity because he had to keep it that way. Toby might not know it, but he did, his life depended on it.

"Cyril, are you alright now? Are you alright with me?... I'm sorry. I was wrong."

The blond head nodded, then asking hopefully, "Do you like me now?"

Erm..! "Si. Of course I do. I never didn't like you. I just.." he trailed off. He'd already admitted far too much to this man. He had to stop being so weak. Cyril was not as stupid as they all kept thinking and he'd to remember that. Also he had the awful thought that whatever Cyril knew, Ryan O'Riely would know shortly after.

He leant back against the washer, hands in pockets, watching as his feet scuffed at each other, wondering if he would ever get himself to stop believing that Toby would turn from him at any moment to find someone else. Anyone else, someone better than him or easier to deal with. Why could he not just relax believe and enjoy?

A tap on his shoulder and he freaked, shooting back hitting the dryers, arms coming up defensively but it was only Cyril. Once more he'd become lost in his thoughts. "Don't touch me!"

"Sorry."

He knocked his head back hard against the glass of the dryer. Fuck. "What do you want?" softer.

"You forgot the conditioner."

Alvarez began to laugh softly, more of a giggle, kicking behind him and covering his eyes with his hands as he felt the laughter begin to take control of him. He was so sick of being so fucked up. Why couldn't he get control of himself? Of his life? He'd spent the whole morning like some 'mincing little fag' with no self-respect, embarrassing Toby instead of just saying something. Letting himself be afraid of someone like Cyril. He wanted Beecher, needed him. Where the fuck was he? He'd been coming this way. Where the fuck was he?

Beecher wasn't far away. He'd been watching just out of view from the pair and as he saw Cyril looking very uncertain move towards Miguel, he decided it was time to intervene. It had looked as if they'd come to an understanding but now Miguel needed him.

Swiftly entering the laundry room, calling out to Cyril to step away, he had to get to Miguel as the noise of him repeatedly kicking the dryer was sure to bring a Hack or four. Calling his name, grabbing hold of his wrists to pull his hands from his head, he called, "Miguel, stop. Look at…. Listen to me. I'm here. Please, be still before the Hacks come."

He stopped kicking but his head dropped, shaking from side to side, his wrists tense in Beecher's hands as his own clawed but he didn't try to pull away. Beecher heard the door open and turned to see three Hacks rushing in. "Please, Miguel, don't make them take you away from me!"

Alvarez stilled, looked him in the eye, frightened but it was too late. Beecher was rammed face first into the wall and as Miguel moved to him, calling out his name, he too was rammed back. Beecher went still, unresisting. Alvarez did not. As the baton drew back for another strike, he had to stop the Bastard from beating Toby.

Alvarez threw himself at the man but was brought crashing to the floor, a body heavy on his back, a baton under his chin forcing his head up hard, screaming out in helpless rage as Toby was struck yet again.

Cyril didn't know what to do. Beecher was being hit for no reason that he could see and Alvarez was struggling on the floor, two men fighting to control him, to cuff him. He should help his friends but Ryan had always told him not to fight the people in dark blue as it would just get him in deep trouble and that horrible room.

He was being ignored so he quickly left the laundry, looking around for someone who could help Beecher and his friend. He couldn't see anyone, glanced back anxiously then looked again, hands rubbing at his pants. What should he do? He needed Ryan.

"Cyril? What's wrong?" It was that Hack that Ryan talked to a lot.

Murphy, on entering Em City, saw Cyril on his own and looking very scared. He moved over, quickly following Cyril's looks and rushed into the Laundry room. "Stop! What the hell is going on in here?" Both prisoners looked subdued enough, already in cuffs. He'd never seen any need for such excessive discipline. Both Miguel and Beecher were hauled up and thrown over the washer bank, batons hard in their backs to keep them still.

Miguel managed to turn his head to look to Beecher who was at right angles to him. Toby looked in pain and very angry but gazed back at him, breathing hard. Miguel blinked, tried to set his face in apology without being able to say a word. Again he'd caused Toby trouble, pain and God knew how long they were to be in the 'Hole' after this. It was his fault the Hacks had come and it was also his fault that Toby had been beaten. And even now Toby was looking concerned about him.

Beecher couldn't know why Lopresti had repeatedly hit him so hard, had not seen the satisfaction on his face as he drew back the baton repeatedly but Miguel did. All his attention had been on them, trying to fight off the Hacks holding him. He'd had to get to Toby.

Alvarez had escaped, from solitary and the prison, he had gotten away from Lopresti before the Hack had tired of him so now he was obviously taking the chance to take it out on the man that had him now.

"So what the hell happened?" Murphy demanded.

Lopreski answered the chief Officer for the three of them, "They were fighting," he said dismissively.

Murphy was surprised. He looked at both prisoners, one to the other and the looks they were exchanging did not support it.

"That's not true!" Cyril had followed Murphy in. He had to 'stick up' for his friends. Murphy turned, eyebrows raised. Now that was a surprise, Cyril speaking out.

"You shut the fuck up!"

Sean turned back to look at Lopreski. He had to back up his officers of course but something was out of whack here, it didn't add up. "Take them to McManus' office. Cyril you come too."

"But, Murphy? They should go to the 'Hole'. Or solitary."

Beecher saw the horror on Alvarez' face as he tensed up, preparing to start his fight again. He whispered to him, "No," and pleaded with his eyes. They were in deep shit already.

Alvarez was breathing hard and fast, he was beginning to panic. Seeing Toby hurt was bad enough, unbearable being separated worse, but isolation? No. NO. He couldn't go back there. He would fight to his last, he couldn't go back there, and he just knew Lopresti would follow. "No, Por favor. Mai Dios, no", he began mumbling under his breath, rising up, got pushed back hard, his face hitting the unrelenting surface.

"I said take them to McManus' office." Yes he had to support his officers, but keep command too as a hand held Miguel's struggling head down, accepting no opposition.

So they were man handled none too gently, despite no resistance, through Em City, up to the Unit Manager's office and pushed down into chairs, a baton heavy on shoulder in warning. Tim looked to Sean in askance. He guessed they'd been caught fucking or something similar.

Holding Cyril to the side, Murphy signalled that the other officers should be dismissed. Tim took the hint and on leaving, Miguel did not miss the feel of the Nightstick tip run up his neck and along his cheek disguised as withdrawal. He knew that Nightstick, intimately. He held his shiver, praying no one else had noticed the action but Lopresti was more cunning than that.

"What happened? Why're you here?" looking at Beecher and Alvarez in turn. He got no reply.

Beecher tried to ease himself in the seat. His back hurt like hell and he just prayed his ribs were only bruised. Alvarez sank down in his chair, his body language saying, I'm not here.

"Were you fucking?" He got one of those dismissive looks off Beecher so presumed not. Both had taken a pounding so they must have done something. "So what were you doing?" Alvarez was staring at the floor, Beecher at the ceiling and Cyril was practically bouncing in the corner next to Murphy. Tim turned to him "Cyril, will you tell me what happened?"

The man looked at Beecher who looked back then away. "Beecher was being nice to his friend like he is to me." McManus didn't quite follow that and looked at Beecher. He didn't want to believe what he was thinking at that moment.

"What do'you mean?"

"When I get sad, Beechers' nice to me. Tells me I'll be Okay. Alvarez was upset he.." a hissing noise and Cyril went quiet as he looked at Alvarez. He was going to say more but held his tongue at that look.

McManus turned his attention to the huddled figure before him. "So what were you 'upset' about?" he asked the silent man.

Why would none of them ever talk to him, let him help them? That was the whole point of this unit. Still an experiment, even after these years of failure, still his, he sometimes thought, naive opinion perhaps, that with help and care these men could do more than just receive punishments but change, ready for a new life on the outside. Not that he could see Alvarez leaving anytime soon.

Alvarez stared at his feet. Tim was not totally unaware. He guessed it would take the man more than a while to get over what had happened to him recently and that Cyril was probably telling the truth as he saw it.

He noticed Beecher still fidgeting, wincing although trying to cover it. Tim turned to him but all the man's attention was on Alvarez. One thing was for sure, when Beecher fell in love, he went the whole way. Keller had not been a one off deal. He turned to Sean a question in his eyes.

"Lopresti says they were fighting," 'but I don't believe him', but that was not to be spoken in front of these men.

"So what was it? You fighting or were you…" pointing at Miguel, "'upset'?" Nothing, just fidgeting, looking at each other. "Right. Murphy. Get Beecher checked out at the Hospital ward. Alvarez is to see Sister Peter Marie now. Talk to her then back here in two hours an' if I don't get an answer it's the Hole. Get out!"

Alvarez could not hide his concern at the effort it took for Toby to stand, he moved to help him but what could he do the cuffs pulling tight on his wrists? So he went docilely as Murphy pulled him from the room, calling the nearest Hack to escort him to the Nun's office.

Murphy decided he definitely needed to talk with Tim especially as he felt Alvarez stiffen as Lopreski came forwards. Something was going on there but now was not the time to inquire. As Alvarez was urged to move, sort of having to be dragged, he told a worried Cyril to sit and wait as they both watched Beecher also be escorted away. Cyril tried to follow but Beecher called back, "No, Cyril" and to keep him happy, compliant, he added, "I need you to do something for me."

"What?" eager.

"Get the laundry," and glanced at Murphy who nodded. Yes, he would watch out for Cyril.

==000==

TBC…


	34. Chapter 34

Back in the office, Murphy took a seat, rubbing at his receding hair. "I don't know Tim. There's something going on here I can't quite get a handle on."

"Lovers tiff'?" hazarded McManus.

"No. I mean with one of the guards. I tend to believe Cyril and I think Lopreski was way 'over zealous' in hitting Beecher. And just now..." going up in tone as he indicated over his shoulder, "You ever known Alvarez to actually be 'scared' of one of us officers?"

=0=

Alvarez gave passive resistance, having to be almost bodily dragged down the stairs and out of Em City. He watched the floor, conscious only of the hand on his arm, clutching tight enough to feel as if it was burning into him and a scar would remain forever. Unaware of where he was, Lopresti stopped them and glancing up, Miguel took a step back as he realised they hadn't reached Sister Pete's Office.

He was rammed into the wall, being told to stay as a rattle of keys opened the waiting door and he was suddenly grabbed and hurled into a room he'd never seen before. He lost his balance, crashing into the wooden wall of the stall, sliding down onto his knees. He took a moment to regain his breath, looking around anxiously.

It must be a staff restroom and, struggling to stand, trying to ignore the mocking laughter, he turned to face Lopreski and stared in what he hoped was anger at the Hack who just stood idly looking him up and down, a leer taking over his face. The noise of that Nightstick slapping into a palm and he stepped backwards, once more coming up against the wood, his face flooding with apprehension.

"You left Me," spoken lightly but with an undercurrent of rage and wounded pride. "You should not have done that."

Miguel looked back aghast. "I got Fuckin' stabbed!"

"True, but where did you go on leaving the Hospital ward?" eyebrows raised. "Not back to your room to wait for me."

Miguel wanted to laugh in his face but as Lopresti moved towards him, his own face dropped, as did his head, shrinking in on himself. Pulling futilely at the cuffs behind his back, he went rigid as the baton touched his belly and moved in that all too well remembered way into his jeans then his boxers as Lopreski undid the fly on his jeans with his free hand.

Alvarez knew it would be useless to fight. There was nothing he could realistically do to stop him and from experience knew that to show resistance would just make the inevitable worse. The stick was removed as Lopresti pressed close, sniffing at his stretched neck as he moved his face away as far as he could. Lopresti started to press rhythmically against him. His hands painfully trapped behind him, Miguel stretched trying to climb the wall. He was bitten gently on that place below his left ear that this Hack had always seemed so fascinated with.

Lopresti whispered into his ear, "Be certain I was not finished with you then and I am not finished with you now." Then smirking, stood back and to Alvarez' relief and surprise, refastened his jeans and he was once more dragged away, out of the restroom.

Heagain lost track of where he was until he found himself uncuffed and forced to stand before Sister Pete who looked up at him, finishing of a phone call. "Yes, he's here...Yes.. Bye." She stood, coming around the desk. "Miguel, what's happened to you?" She was studying him intently as he stared back, wide eyed as if in shock.

"Has _he_ gone?"

"Who?" but the man just looked around him, worried, almost like a frightened animal knowing that its prey. "Miguel, we're alone."

"You sure?" he was trembling.

She moved to the door, glancing out. "There's no one there. Just Officer Mason."

Miguel moved to the door panicked, searching through the window then back into the centre of the room, hugging himself tight.

"Miguel. Will you tell me what's wrong? What happened this morning?"

He fell to his knees, not listening, hands to his head and began to rock in front of the only other person besides Beecher he had ever let see him like this. Last time after finally realising what he'd done to Rivera. This time, at all that was being done and threatened to him.

Pete did as she had done the last time too. She knelt behind him, holding him, waiting for him to calm. This time, instead of the keening, just one word repeated over and over as if a question, "Toby?"

=0=

Beecher was taken straight to the Hospital ward where he was pronounced able but badly bruised. He wasn't offered painkillers and was quickly dismissed but not before a tentatively walking O'Riely got to him. Before the man could get a word out Beecher assured him, "Cyril's fine. Don't worry."

"Easy for you to say. You look like shit. What the fuck happened?"

Beecher laughed disgustedly. "Thanks. When you back?"

"A couple of days."

"Good." Leaning in close, he told him, "We need to talk."

"Wha...?"

"Not Cyril. Other stuff."

O'Riely knew it was to be inevitable. Beecher would demand an accounting of his part of what happened to his playmate. He wasn't looking forwards to it but hey, he could handle Beecher, no problem.

He stood looking at him, so different to the version of Beecher who came to him every time he needed to get high, trying to dull the pain of Shillinger. He'd also managed to cope with the crazy version when they had briefly shared a Pod just before the riot and handled him during. It had been useful to have a crazy fucker stood watching his back but he sure hoped it wasn't crazy version Beecher, always present now just beneath the surface, that would be waiting to talk to him when he got back.

=0=

McManus was not impressed with the so called answers he got from either Beecher or Alvarez on their separate 'interviews' but having gotten something from Sister Pete, if scant and evasive, claiming doctor patient privilege that meant shit to him, he dismissed both back into Em City.

From the state they were both in, one physical, one looking shaky under the pretence that Tim had long ago managed to see through, he guessed things would be still, if not uneventful, in their Pod tonight.

=0=

Alvarez was indeed still shaky as he entered the cell. He'd not wanted to tell the Nun or, in the present guise, the Psychiatrist anything but she did get his feelings out of him if not the cause but on seeing Beecher, he at once relaxed but also stumbled to sit on the man's foot locker at the rear of the cell. His was far too exposed, being by the front window, and he had the awful thought that the pain Toby was obviously in was going to make him cry. "Hey. Are you Okay?"

"Sure I am," Toby replied.

Alvarez laughed derisively at himself. Such a damn stupid question. "I'm sorry." A pause, "and I'm sorry for the beating. It was my fau..."

"Don't even think of finishing that sentence." Toby climbed down off his bunk, trying to hold back the hiss and beckoned Miguel to stay seated as he began to rise to come to help him. He ran the back of his fingers down that cheek and smiled to himself as Miguel's face tilted into the touch. They seemed to have already created their own traditions, rituals.

"But Toby. It is," looking up, pleading with his eyes as well as voice, to please listen to him, to understand. "If I hadn't..." 'run he would've tired of me and wouldn't be taking it out on you'. But he couldn't bring himself to voice that. It would lead to too much explanation and he didn't want Toby to know of all that.

He still felt the shame he had then and Hell, he'd almost convinced himself it was just another delusion conjured up whilst in solitary. He so wished it had been and could be forgotten but it, _he_, had come back and no amount of anti depressants was going to cure him of this one.

He started again, "If I could just get all this...shit that's happening sorted out in this fucked up head of mine, I wouldn't cause you all this trouble." He sighed deeply, "I'm trying. Tobias, please believe me. I am trying. Its just so..." he trailed off at a loss how to explain.

"It's just going to take time. For both of us," Beecher finished for him, thinking how he loved the sound of his name coming from those lips.

Miguel's eyes dropped, the emotion he felt for the man just too much to bear, he should tell him the truth. "It's all so Fucked up, man. When will all this shit that keeps happening be over? I don't think I can take much more."

Beecher moved to him, the sight of those deep brown eyes he loved welling up had pulled at him as they always did. He held the now shivering man's face in his cupped hand, rubbed his thumb over those lips and smiled to himself as Miguel sighed.

Alvarez closed those eyes and felt a little calmer as he rested the weight of his head on Toby's hand, his own moving slowly then grasped onto Beecher's thighs. But both knew that shit always happened in OZ. It would until they were released or dead. All that they could do was to try to survive and grow stronger with each day they made it through or they would never make it out.

That's just how it was.

==000==

TBC…


	35. Chapter 35

Sitting on the floor, once more reading aloud, Beecher lost his place, going silent while enjoying the feel of Miguel's fingers idly playing with the hair at his neck.

Alvarez smiled, propped on his side, as he watched as his fingers played. This was nice having the Pod to themselves at last, spending the hours between 'Lockdown' and 'Lights out' in companionable stillness. He enjoyed listening to Toby's voice and as usual had ceased to hear the words, just listening to the sound, ages ago. He sagged down, resting his cheek on the bunk to gaze at Toby as he turned to him, one arm resting on the mattress by his chest. Letting his fingers continue to play, he concentrated on the feeling moving over the man's neck, his jaw. Miguel was relaxed, felt peaceful and smiled again.

Beecher wasn't so relaxed. He had to know. They had never spoken of their pasts, of before they came together but it had been eating at him for days. Maybe if Alvarez would answer him, would explain, it might help him to understand him more as really he didn't.

Beecher accepted that Alvarez had a great deal of 'baggage' with many a hang-up, hell so did he, but he didn't know him and wanted to. This probably wasn't the time, if ever there would be one, as Miguel seemed content which was a rarity but Toby could feel the doubts nagging at him, unnerving him. He'd never lied to Miguel and all his previous 'affairs' were common knowledge and he felt that in a way, Alvarez had lied to him, through omission.

Beecher had believed that he was the first and Miguel had let him. The first person inside the prison he had allowed to be intimate with him. The first man he'd ever been with. He didn't care that he wasn't Miguel's first male lover but felt foolish as he'd believed himself to be the only one. He'd been flattered and yes, it had done much for his ego and pride, self importance to think that someone with a reputation such as Alvarez had, even after his 'breakdown', had only allowed him, had only chosen him.

He felt cheated, a fool but also curious. No one else in the prison except, one other of course, appeared aware of Miguel's previous lover and that was an enigma in itself as everything got to be common knowledge sooner or later even if there was no profit in it, gossip was rife. He needed to speak if only for his own peace of mind whether Miguel chose to answer or not, otherwise this curiosity would grow and eventually drive him crazy.

"Miguel?"

"Hum?" He wasn't really listening, stroking Toby's face he was thinking of 'Lights Out'. The Hack rotation last week meant that the Bastard wouldn't be bothering them tonight. The current Guards were leaving them pretty much alone as there was no screaming or blood flowing in here and they had plenty else to be attentive to.

The resent 'moving day' had caused more problems than usual. Miguel was still so relieved he'd been left in Beecher's Pod and also that their new neighbours had proved to be too drugged up to give a damn about causing them trouble. It was the days that were proving problematic.

With Toby at his work assignment, Alvarez had had to find ways to keep out of Lopresti's way. Making sure he was never caught alone within his eyesight, he could still feel the unwelcome attention but for the nights they were left alone he could cope with that, it seemed a small price to pay but he had to be careful.

Ryan was regaining strength, so they would be ready to move soon. They had to be. Robson was due out of the 'Hole' any day now. He didn't need the extra vigilance, least of all as it was lustful. That trip to the staff toilets had convinced him of that.

Beecher was having second thoughts. The smile on Miguel's face was so rare and the fingers now playing with his ear spoke of an enjoyable night to come but his mind wouldn't settle.

"Miguel?"

"Si,"

"I was asked some strange questions today."

"Ur..huh?"

He still wasn't paying attention, he could catch him off guard but Toby knew that that could be disastrous but he just might get the truth.

"Yes. I was asked if you're still crap at giving blow jobs." The fingers stilled. Alvarez stilled. The whole Pod seemed to freeze, even the air waiting to see what his reaction was to be. "I take it then you don't need to ask me who I was speaking to?"

Alvarez turned onto his stomach, chin on folded arms as he stared out of the Pod, his only sign, a foot rubbing at the pillow beneath it. If he just refused to speak, pretending he hadn't heard, maybe Toby would leave it alone. He didn't know about his 'visitor' in solitary and wanted to keep it that way.

Toby had always acted as if he believed he was the first person in here that Miguel had turned to, the first to touch him like this and it was the truth. Toby was the first that he'd wanted. With him he could almost forget the past. He'd become a new person with Toby, he had a new life now and that's why he'd never spoken of what had gone on before the man had found him.

This place, his childhood, his family, Maritza, fathering a child, losing that child and all else that had happened in here. There was just too much grief, anger, pain and regret and, yes, his life now was different, new. He had nearly spoken up to give him an explanation of why he'd been beaten for no reason that Beecher could fathom and answer his repeated question spoken to the air, why was that particular Hack such a Bastard to them. Now he figured that Toby knew. Beecher was far from stupid; just one more thing he loved about the man but sometimes Miguel wished his intuition was not so good.

Damn! He should have just laughed it off, said, 'yeah, right' or something, but instead he'd turned silent, defensive again. Shit! He knew Tobias would not let it drop now.

So Miguel was trying to ignore him? thought Beecher. Obviously he didn't want to speak on this subject but then what had he really expected? He'd been ready for a curled frightened man or an explosion. Miguel had indeed changed. Still though, he reckoned that this was going to take time.

He placed his hand gently on the stretched back feeling the slight flinch and let it lie heavy. "I thought he was just trying to rile me as how the hell could he know you don't really like doing that?" He had set his tone light as if he found it, not exactly funny, but none to seriously. Still there was no reaction. "But then he wanted to know if you still bite your lip if you know you're going to get fucked or you've done something wrong. And if you still seem so surprised that you cum." The foot was now kicking at the pillow. "How would he know that?"

Alvarez continued to stare out of the Pod but was seeing a different view. Why did Beecher have to say this? It was the past, gone, but then this was Lopresti reminding him that he wasn't finished with him yet as if he hadn't already gotten the message. He might not have taken him in the toilets but had made it obvious it was only a matter of time.

What the hell was going on? Did he have a neon sign over his head stating 'use this body, going free for anyone to fuck'? Toby was still waiting for an answer. Could he lie to him? Say nothing had ever happened? The hand on his back was possessive and accusing. But he was a possession, that's the way it went and now he wanted it that way. Then he had not. "What did you say?"

So, Beecher thought, he did still exist. "Nothing." Silence again. "I think I upset him," laughing lightly, peering at his face. It was neutral with no expression. "He asked me if you were still an insatiable little bitch that whimpered if I'd had enough and couldn't fuck you just one more time?"

Miguel moved up onto his elbows but started that picking of his fingers. Beecher laughed nastily, "I did answer that one. Told him I didn't know. That that hadn't happened yet."

"I begged him to stop once."

In that short sentence, Beecher could guess it all.

"_He_ used to ask me questions. 'That's good isn't it? Harder? Ready yet? More? And ...other stuff. I soon learnt what he expected to hear... Then I started to believe it."

Toby took his hand away frightening Alvarez but he knelt up, pushing Miguel's top out of the way and placed a kiss in the small of his back, slow loving and warm.

"I'm so sorry, Toby," Miguel whispered then collapsed down, hands fisted and clutching at the blanket as he buried his face.

Hand rubbing at the man's back Beecher covered Miguel's right hand with his own. "Why should you be sorry?" checking through the Plexi.

Miguel's face moved but away from him. "Coz I know you thought you were the first... the only... and I'm so sorry you're not. But you gotta believe me, you're the only one I wanted to have me."

Toby sighed at the terminology he used. He spoke as if he believed it was over, that Toby wouldn't want him anymore, a repetitive fear that had surfaced so many times. Beecher was beginning to realise he may never be able to convince Miguel it was a foundless one.

"You don't have to say anymore unless you want to?" Nothing. "But will you answer me this? Is it due to him, Lopresti, that you got this idea that you deserve to be owned, that you can only be used?"

"That's how it works. The stronger always takes the weaker."

"Miguel. You are not weak!"

"I know it," resigned.

"No. And I do _not _own you. You know that. It doesn't work like that. Not here. Not you and I."

"Don't lie to me. You've never lied to me. Don't start now. Please!" Alvarez was numb, the despair he was feeling once more sapping what little strength he had managed to find.

"I'm not lying to you. We've been through this so many times." He removed his hands to rub at his face, through his hair and Miguel did curl up, his back to him. He tried to gently encourage him onto his back but Miguel just curled tighter, arms hiding his head. Toby rested his forehead on Miguel's waist, hands either side. "Miguel. It's not always like that. Whatever he did to you was not like us. It doesn't have to continue, to be like that."

"It does. You should know. That's what's happened to me. I was Lopresti's Bitch, now I'm your Prag, just like you were to Shillinger then Keller." He bit his lip, eyes tightly shut, too scared to move, almost to breathe. He knew he should never have spoken those words, that it was a terrible mistake as soon as he'd uttered the thought. He didn't need the fingers digging into his side so intently, so painfully, to tell him Toby was livid at him. He'd angered him but it was the truth! Maybe now he would stop this, would understand and accept their roles. They were laid out for them clearly, always had been. That was life in OZ.

This time Beecher was not gentle. He forced Miguel onto his back and Alvarez gave up any possible fight as his arms were pulled from his face but he couldn't look at him, could not bear to witness the anger that he'd caused. His body limp, he waited for whatever Beecher would do to him.

Beecher was indeed livid. He knelt there, hands fisted as he stared at the man's face. It was screwed up tight, facing away from him. Grabbing his chin, he turned Miguel's face to him against the slack resistance, "Open your eyes." A sob in response. "Don't make me say it." Oh, those eyes. They were mutely pleading and it was Beecher who wanted to cry now. He collapsed back sitting on his heals.

"You are so wrong."

Miguel shook his head slightly wondering if he had a compulsion to ruin everything in his life as he said quietly, "No. I'm not."

"Fine!" and Beecher stood, moving to lean back against the sink, arms folded and staring off into space.

Miguel didn't know what to do. What Toby would want him to do. It had been so pleasant just being here together then Toby had had to ask about Lopresti. The Hack was not even on shift and he was still ruining this for them. This was why Miguel didn't talk much, whenever they did have a 'conversation' it always led to Toby being angry with him and himself lost.

He looked up at him. Maybe he should go to him, knell to him and once more show he was willing to do anything to appease him. But the lights were still up and although he was miserable and Toby was disgusted with him, he didn't want to be taken away. So he decided to talk, to tell him the truth, to just tell him.

"You asked me once what I wanted. I told you, you could to do anything that you wanted to me. It's still true. Then I was trying to keep hold of you, keep you interested in me. If you could use me maybe you'd want me around. Tobias?" he waited until Beecher turned to look down at him. "Now? Tobias, I want you. I need you... because I'm in love with you." Then he curled up, once more turning his back, too scared to see the reaction.

Beecher had felt Alvarez' words as a physical pain in his chest. He was fuming, trying to ignore that Miguel had indeed spoken the truth about Keller. It had been different he was certain but still...

Chris himself had once said he was just a Bitch, a Prag and after all he'd put up with, all he'd done and all he'd forgiven the man and yes, still love him, Miguel was correct.

As the lights went out he was too angry to go to Miguel, too wrapped up in his own head, his own emotions to recognise the need he was usually so aware of coming from the figure on the bottom bunk. He went into automatic mode, cleaning teeth and such then hopped up onto his bunk, lying back, jaw clenched tight as he tried to convince himself that Miguel was wrong about him and Chris. He couldn't and his anger simmered knowing mainly it was at himself. Turning, he hoped for sleep remembering what his mother had once told him, 'never go to bed angry'. Yeah. Right!

Alvarez so wanted to go to him but still did not dare to move. He'd almost expected Toby to come to him, to comfort him as he had so many times before after his anger had dissipated but this time he'd obviously gone way too far. And then? he'd told the man he was a needy bitch in love with him. Yes, he decided, he ruined everything good.

He thought of his stash of pills but of course they were gone. He'd been so nervous at the 'shake down' knowing they would be found at last and he'd be taken to the 'Hole' but they hadn't. He was still not sure who had 'stolen' them but thought it had been Toby. He wanted them now. Not to leave, just to feel better. He would have taken anything at this point to feel better so he would not feel the anger that filled the vary air in the Pod.

He finally moved, shifting slightly to hug himself tight. 'Oh, Toby. Por favor. Te quiero. Perdóname. Don't leave me alone. Forgive me. Please.'

==000==

TBC…


	36. Chapter 36

The lights came up and Alvarez' eyes shot open. He was disorientated, his first view a pair of black feet through the Plexiglas. Silently groaning at the stiffness, he turned over, sitting up rubbing at his face. He remembered. Toby was angry with him, had obviously left him alone through the night to eventually drift off to sleep.

He stood looking intently at Beecher. Dare he awaken him? He so longed to run his fingers into that silky darkly blond hair as he had so recently taken to doing but was afraid. He stood, hand moving forwards then stilling.

Beecher was already awake, watching him through slit eyes. He appeared so uncertain, hand hovering and hazarded that Miguel was unaware that he was biting at a thumbnail. "What? No morning kiss?" Miguel seemed to relax but Beecher got hit, slammed in the face by a vision of the past, of Shillinger. Oh Fuck!

He sat up with his back against the Plexi, watching him. Thank God Miguel didn't realise what had just happened, what Beecher had just done. "You're right. You spoke the truth about Ch...Keller and I. But please, Miguel, we don't have to be like that. We don't have to continue the madness. You and I. We can be different. I want us to be different. Just be together. Is that too much to ask? Can't we just be?"

Miguel took a deep breath, hands holding onto the edge of the bunk as he gazed at him. His eyes said it all, his words, "The only thing I know is that I love you. I want you. I need you. I'll do anything." 'Please don't say you want,' Toby silently begged. "Whatever it takes just it be with you, to be together." Then he smiled with that ducking of head and Toby knew that somehow, they were going to be okay.

==000==

"Cyril, wait!" Fuck it! as Ryan followed his brother to spend another breakfast in the wonderful company of Cyril's 'friends'. He didn't need another day of meals with Alvarez watching Beecher talk to Cyril as both ignored his existence. It had been amusing as well as informative, watching all the nuances and the interplay of eyes but, by dinner yesterday, it had already worn on his patience. And now for another day of much the same, no doubt.

Alvarez was edgy, more so than the day previous, trying to cover it with an uncaring attitude but his eyes gave him away every time Beecher smiled or laughed in response to Cyril. He touched Alvarez' arm, leaning in to say some idle comment. Yes, immediately Beecher's eyes were on him. He grinned and received a tired look in return.

'Oh, Beecher, you are defiantly not the same man I shared a Pod with a couple of years back', he thought, 'a mad Fucker then who didn't like to be touched. Guess he don't like his 'Miguel' to be touched now. A bit late for that'. He grinned evilly at the man. Ryan was beginning to have fun again.

Alvarez was not keen on having both the O'Riely brothers sat with them either. He still felt resentment for Cyril, mainly as he took too much of Toby's time and attention away from him but it was Ryan that was putting him ill at ease.

Having decided that his dealings with the cocky man had to be much more circumspect, not wanting to 'rub' Toby's face in it, he also had to contend with the constant scrutiny of an overly interested Hack. He needed Ryan but didn't need Lopresti catching anything of what they were planning.

Then again, he reasoned, maybe having Ryan around Toby's group, it was far from his, might work in their favour? Cyril was a constant accepted Beecher shadow and his brother was sure to be never far away. Still, he would feel better once Ryan and Cyril resumed their kitchen duties and would no longer be sitting with them at meals.

Toby's attention to Cyril was bad enough but he was also uncomfortable at the looks Toby was bestowing on Ryan. In return O'Riely was doing much to wind Beecher up. He didn't need this. What he needed was Ryan's skill at strategy and help in getting rid of Robson once and for all. The Bastard was due out of the 'Hole' tomorrow. He knew for sure as Lopresti had taunted him, in fact telling him to 'watch his ass' as he didn't want it worn out as he would be coming for him soon.

What the hell was he going to do? Robson wasn't finished with them yet, he was sure of it and how was he to get the Hack to stay away from him? He had to do something and now, that was certain. Head lowered, he gazed up at Toby. He had to protect himself from both men. He was only for this one sat opposite who felt his regard, and turning, gave him a crooked grin causing him to smile then curse at O'Riely as the man chuckled, "Oh, Amante."

Beecher couldn't contain it, he smiled laughingly, lovingly. He'd been told on his first day in this place never to smile, but he had been through too much not to appreciate the happiness he could feel on Miguel's actions. There was little enough to even amuse him in here and he felt grateful that there was someone who could make him feel such joy simply by that someone being himself.

That memory of his first day took him back and he was hit by a vision of something he had long forgotten. On first entering this hell, even before passing through the gates of Em City, there had been a stabbing. He'd freaked out, banging at the bars as the victim clutched tight to his leg. He had forgotten. It had been Miguel.

He studied Alvarez as he bantered with O'Riely, the coarse words covering his uneasiness. Had their fates been set on that first day? Arriving here on the same day, on the same bus, Alvarez had reached out to him in a desperate bid for help. Was it then inevitable that later he would reach out to him again? It gave him something to ponder on although it wouldn't make any difference. That day he'd turned from him terrified. Not anymore.

Musing, Beecher was startled as Brusmalis nudged his arm. "Come on, everyone is heading out," and standing, he collected his tray to follow, resisting the urge to hurry and catch up with Miguel and O'Riely. He lost sight of the talking pair followed closely by Cyril who turned to wave as they passed through the gates. Beecher headed out to Sister Pete's.

==000==

Alvarez spent an hour ostentatiously playing cards with the O'Rielys but they had business to discuss. Robson was due to be released today and they both had reasons to want him gone. Cyril had listened to all that had been said. He wasn't included in their plans but he wanted to help. He could help. He knew it. He'd helped his brother before so why not now? But every time he opened his mouth to speak Ryan's name he was told, "Not now, Cyril." He began to get angry. He grabbed Ryan's arm causing an exasperated "What?"

"I can help."

"No bro'. I want you safe." Ryan looked at him concerned. He hadn't even thought that Cyril was listening to them.

"I will be safe. I'll be with you."

"No. I don't want you there."

"But Toby and Miguel are my friends," Cyril was pleading.

"Fuck!" and Alvarez threw down his cards, sitting back in his chair, arms folded staring hard at Cyril. Since when had they been on first name terms? And he certainly didn't consider Cyril a 'friend'. But then again? "Hey. O'Riely. Let him help." An extra body could well come in handy and Cyril could fight. He'd seen it.

"Please, Ryan?" Cyril looking from one to the other expectantly.

"Okay. All right," leaning forwards towards him, "You do exactly as I say. You understand me?"

Cyril nodded, his face serious at the tone of Ryan's voice.

"And don't say a word to anyone. Especially your _friend_, 'Tobias'. Okay?"

Cyril nodded again. He not only wanted to help, he needed to. They were his friends and the man, the one they were planning to 'hurt' was bad. He'd hurt him, he'd hurt Alvarez and, worst of all, he'd hurt Ryan.

He could hurt them again.

==000==

O'Riely was not pleased with the appearance of Beecher in his Pod but had been expecting it. No doubt he still wanted an accounting and Ryan also felt a stab of jealousy at how pleased Cyril was to see him. Cyril had him to rely on, he didn't need Beecher and although it should have been a relief that Cyril finally realised there was more in his universe than just his brother, he couldn't help it.

Mainly though, he'd been dreading this moment. He felt stupid on being caught so badly and knew Beecher blamed him. He wasn't scared of Beecher in the slightest but still, he could do without the man's rancour. Alvarez was useful.

Normally getting others to do his 'culling' for him he'd had to change tactics when his conniving had for once failed to work. Now he craved direct action. The Bastard had stabbed him. He wanted to _see_ Robson die. He needed Alvarez for that so had to stay on 'good' terms with Beecher. This man leaning on his sink, arms folded, was now the Latino's whole world. He found it absurd but could understand he supposed, but Tobias Beecher was no Gloria.

"Cyril. Wait outside."

"But Ryan I don't..."

"I said outside. Now."

"No," looking at Beecher not him.

The man smiled, "It's okay Cyril. We won't be long," and he begrudgingly left.

Ryan was furious. "You stay the Fuck away from my brother!" Beecher just shrugged but looked tensed, ready. Ryan could quite easily have gone for him at that moment but that wasn't his style and Cyril was watching them. He had a suspicion that if it came to a fight, Cyril might just not chose to defend him. So he turned on the charm.

"Hey. I'm just used to Cyril only listening to me. But it's great, you know? Him finally being comfortable with someone else? I've been meaning to thank you for looking out for him." He was lying through his teeth and the steady look he was receiving spoke of Beecher not buying a word of it. He sat on the chair, rocking it back. "So what can I do for you?" It was obvious he wanted something.

"You're going to help me."

"Oh? And why should I do that?" But he could guess the answer.

"You owe me."

"I owe you shit." Beecher just raised an eyebrow. "If anything," Ryan continued, "I'm the one owed. I got a knife in the gut thanks to your... Prag."

Beecher studied him calmly. He was just trying to get a rise, the pause proving what he said had not come naturally. He would never have spoken the word if Alvarez was about and Beecher had heard much worse. "A small price to pay for going along with that mad scheme. Or? Was it your idea that led to Him getting 'hurt'?"

"Fuck no! I ain't that stupid."

"Stupid enough to agree."

O'Riely looked out of the window in disgust. Beecher was right. He'd had his reasons, he was looking at one now but Beecher didn't need to know that.

"So what d'you want my help with?" He had an inkling as Beecher knew he and Alvarez were spending time together. Was he about to tell him not to or tell him to keep Alvarez out of trouble, out of danger? "Well?" as Beecher was just studying him, "What is it?"

"You're gonna help me kill Robson."

Ryan looked at him aghast, the chair hitting the floor as he shot forwards. Then he laughed. Oh, this was good.

Beecher was a bit perplexed but hid it well. He continued to study Ryan O'Riely. He'd thought Ryan would jump at the chance to get his enemy. Obviously he thought little of Beecher's abilities but then he didn't know about Metzger. They'd worked together before, Hell during the riot Ryan had trusted him enough to be at his back. But that was the manic, drugged up Beecher version. They'd been sort of friends then, well drug buddies, when Ryan had insisted on touching him all the time. Things change.

Beecher still had suspicions about O'Riely as Keller had not worked alone and somehow he just knew that this man was involved. He'd never been able to figure him out. The only certainty, he could never trust him completely and had to keep wary. But he knew he needed him now and figuring how O'Riely seemed intent on keeping Alvarez as a willing accomplice, he would want to keep him happy. After all, they came as a pair now. Everyone knew that, hence Robson. He waited.

Calming down, O'Riely looked up at him highly amused. "You two so busy fucking you don't have time to talk to each other?"

Beecher idly watched his foot as he began to tap it. So he'd been right. Alvarez was planning to finish what he'd started. Yes, he supposed, Miguel had more reason than ever now. "We're going to keep Alvarez out of this." Looking steadily at O'Riely, wanting to wipe that grin off his face but now was not the time. "Robson is to get no where near him. Ever!"

"You gonna tell your boy? Cause I sure ain't."

Beecher hadn't really considered that. Miguel wouldn't appreciate being told to leave Robson alone. He deserved the revenge, remembering how he'd felt having Shillinger dealt with for him. Cheated. He would deal with Miguel's ire after.

"Whatever you're planning to do to help Alvarez, just make sure you help me first."

Ryan laughed. He would love to see the aftermath of that idea. "What you plannin'?"

"You're the one with all the plans." Beecher moved to stand over him. "I want to see him die, that's all I care about. I'll leave the arrangements to you. It's the least you can do."

"You expect me to do it?" shocked.

"No. Just make it possible for me to do it." Standing away, he added, "He'll be weak." He didn't realise his face held that manic grin. It chilled Ryan.

"What makes you think that?"

Beecher laughed, "Wait till you see him," and still laughing to himself, he left the Pod.

=0=

What the hell was Toby doing up there? Alvarez continued to watch as Toby exchanged a few words with Cyril. They looked serious and he didn't miss Cyril's glance in his direction before Beecher spoke quickly.

As Toby descended the stairs, moving towards him, he determined that he would ask. Enough of this timidity, he should be able to speak up to Toby, demand to know why he was being discussed with the 'retard'.

He waited for Toby to come and join him but he walked straight to their Pod. 'Their Pod'. He felt buoyed that he had at last thought that. Standing, discarding the earphones that had no volume, he strolled towards the Pod and was nonchalantly jostled.

Spinning around on the defensive, ready to attack he froze as Lopresti looked him up and down. "Problem?" Miguel shook his head and backed off. "Good," smiled the Hack.

When he got inside the cell he slumped onto the bottom bunk, his bravado forgotten.

==000==

TBC


	37. Chapter 37

The night had been tense, highly enjoyable, but tense. It was obvious that Beecher suspected he was planning something so Alvarez had done all he could to distract him. He'd had to stop them from talking. It hadn't taken that much, but now, this morning, he was knackered and he needed to be alert.

He spent breakfast with his skin crawling as he was under scrutiny from two sides, three if he included Beecher.

Robson's stint in the 'Hole' had not done him any favours. He was thinner and looked drawn but that did go in their favour. The Aryan was hiding it well but he did look weakened. Still, the looks Alvarez was receiving boded that he intended a repeat performance and, seeing the kisses blown in his direction, Miguel held to himself the comfort that at this time tomorrow, Robson would be in the morgue.

He concentrated on his food for if he looked up at Toby, across from him, he would see Lopresti who had taken up a station directly behind him by the wall. He had accidentally caught his eye once and that had been enough. How the hell were they going to execute their plan when a certain Hack insisted on keeping such a close watch on him? He'd been able to feel those eyes boring through his clothes all the previous day and he was now making it perfectly clear that he would be coming for him soon. He had to keep out of his grasp, even out of his eyesight, more so today than ever. Unless?

He gazed up under his brows at Lopresti, fork half way to his mouth and immediately had his attention. For the first time, hoping that Toby would keep his attention on Cyril next to him, Alvarez let his own eyes slide slowly over to Robson then back to the Hack's.

He knew he was taking a serious gamble with the stakes way high but going back to his food, his eyes flitted up then down, long enough to catch the sneer on Lopresti's face. The bastard thought his concern amusing. Shit!

"What the fuck you doin'?" O'Riely whispered from behind his toast.

Did that man miss nothing? "Later," he replied even quieter. Then he was under a microscope as Beecher gave him one of those 'we're going to talk about this' stares.

==000==

This was becoming ludicrous. O'Riely had ceased to find any humour in the situation. Everything had been set for this afternoon. He'd spent the whole of yesterday after lunch doing the 'rounds' and knew that at a precise time later today there was to be trouble in Unit B.

All of his talking, all his manipulations of certain factions were setting people in place, incidents in motion so Robson would suddenly find himself alone with no one to watch his back as he was 'abducted'. The fact that it was all to take place earlier than Alvarez expected was beside the point but now there was a snag. Alvarez had just announced another 'bright idea'.

"You're not serious?" but Alvarez just stared at him from across the table, throwing a card onto the pile. "You know? Just cause you've got one 'fool' besotted with your ass don't mean everyone is?"

Alvarez continued to play cards. "That _is_ what you're offering right? Coz I know you got nothin' else." Ryan studied his face while continuing the pretence of the current hand. Alvarez was attempting to keep his visage neutral but it was tightening up. "You're not holding out on me are you? You got somethin' else to offer?" The sigh seemed genuine as Miguel shook his head almost sadly. "What makes you so sure he'll go for it anyway?"

"He will."

'Resent history had done nothing to dint his ego then?' mused Ryan?

"I take it I don't need to remind you what happened the last time you shook your ass?" 'If Alvarez has never thought of wasting me before,' Ryan thought, 'he is now'. "Look, Hermano. A 'cons' one thing but getting involved with a Hack?" he shook his head, "That's trouble 'n' trust me, you don't want that kind of trouble!"

"You speaking from experience?"

"Nah. I ain't that stupid." Change tack quick. He didn't need anyone knowing about Howel. "Why would we need a Hack's help anyway? We're all set."

Alvarez threw down his cards lightly and leaning forwards, fixed him with a sneer while collecting the rest up confusing Cyril. "He can take the fall for it."

"And you don't think he might, like, say something? Sort of, 'they did it 'n' not me?" Ryan was incredulous. All that 'lovin' must be rotting his brain.

"He won't be able to say nothin'. Robson got in one good strike before the end as he fought back." He shrugged.

Ryan considered it. There was a pause as Alvarez dealt another hand.

"Why would the Hack want to fight him?"

They both turned to look at Cyril. "What?" his brother asked.

"What did that man do to the Officer that he' would want to fight with him? You told me not to fight anymore unless it was for a good reason."

Alvarez and O'Riely looked at each other. It was a valid point thought Ryan, but it didn't really matter, as Alvarez wasn't going to be there anyway. He had been wondering how they could keep him occupied while he was 'helping' Beecher.

"Don't worry, Cyril. We'll make it all make sense after. I'll think of something."

His brother still looked curious but he trusted that Ryan would make it all okay and Alvarez seemed to relax slightly.

'What the hell's he got against Lopresti?' Ryan wondered but he'd be able to find out no problem. That's what he did, he always found out things that would come in useful in the future. He'd made it a part of his 'business'.

"Right. Alvarez, after lunch you do your 'thing' and watch the time. You'd better be right about this. The timings all set 'n' if he won't go for your...it, you gotta deal. Understand me?"

Alvarez nodded, looking peeved and they returned to the other game.

==000==

He was running on nothing but nerves. The planning, the manipulation, mainly on Ryan's part, was coming to fruition. In less than an hour he would be able to rid Beecher of his greatest remaining threat and get his revenge.

With all the looks and signals going on in the lunch queue and throughout the meal, he was sure the Hacks would know something was going down. He began to dread that at any moment the order would be issued for 'Lockdown' and they would lose their chance.

Beecher appeared calm but Alvarez just knew that he knew he was up to something. He'd been able to avoid the threatened 'talk', Toby having little time outside of his work assignment. That's one reason he'd chosen this day as Tobias did more hours today than any other and later he would have his drug rehab group.

He also wanted it done and over with. He was putting his ass on the line, again, realising how literal that could be if this went wrong. But he was not going to let that happen. Not again.

It had always amazed him how many places there were even in Em City where people could go unnoticed. It had only taken a certain kind of glance and Lopresti had followed him up into the deserted classroom. Now jammed in the corner in the blind spot by the window, Lopresti was standing far too close. He managed to remain calm-ish as the Hack played with that place on his jaw, the one just under his left ear. He appeared fascinated with it. "Alvarez? What are you setting me up for?"

"¿Qué?" small, timid, just how the man liked it, but Shit!

"Well, you must be up to something. Why else d'you want me to follow you when you've been managing to avoid me for days?" He stroked Miguel's cheek hard then went back to playing with his jawbone, "Or have you realised how much you miss my 'attentions'?"

Miguel had had most of the morning to think this one through. Dropping his eyes, being the submissive once more, much easier now, more natural than when this man first took him. "I need your help," low with a catch to his throat.

"And why should I bother to do anything to help _you_?" If the Bitch tried to blackmail him, he knew how to handle that.

Alvarez swallowed and glanced at him nervously, knocking his butt against the wall a couple of times then pretended that he wouldn't dare look at him. "I know you want me." Lopresti pinched his jaw painfully, "I mean, that is .. I mean, I know you'll have me soon and there's nothing I can do to stop you."

"Correct."

He took a deep breath at what he was about to say but, at the hand running over his crotch, he let it out shuddering. Lopresti smiled. He still remembered how to please him. "I also know that you like it if...when I'm responsive? You told me so?" almost begging him to say it's true.

"Umm. Yes. But I'll have you anyway. It isn't necessary," and he bit him on _that_ place.

Alvarez closed his eyes. It had to work this time. Please let his plan work this time. Having to do this, he felt cheep and degraded and if it did fail, he'd have his ass again, but sex, even the promise of sex could buy you so much and he wanted to buy an end to his problems. He wanted to be left alone. Alone for Toby. So he was willing to sell himself this one time to do it.

"Please. I need your help," stretching his neck, allowing greater access. "You told me yourself to keep Robson off me. I heard 'em. He's going to do it again and I don't think I could take that. If I'd survive this time. Please? Help me?"

He must be getting somewhere surly as Lopresti was pressing into him, his left hand circling around to his butt. He held onto the man's arms, speaking up into his ear, "Por favor, help me, help me get rid of him and I'll be responsive. I'll do everything you want me to."

"Oh, but you'll do that anyway."

That belt was digging into him painfully just as he recalled but he pushed forwards, "Si, but willingly," he breathed. "Please, Por favor. I don't think I'll be able to fight him off. You have to help me. Please?"

Lopresti stepped back laughing, "You're pathetic. You think I believe any of this shit? You're not that defenceless. You could have fought him off if you'd wanted to. You don't need my help so what's your game?"

Alvarez slumped into the corner, hugging himself and making himself sound as pathetic as Lopresti had said and feeling it too. He _had_ tried to fight and just as with this man ..."I could never fight you off."

"But it was fun when you tried," and Alvarez sank down, curling up on hearing the low chuckling.

The Hack stared down, studying the hunched figure with a grin to his face. He knew damn well Alvarez was trying to play him but it was also true. He'd overpowered the wiry framed con with little effort, he was after all much bigger, ignoring the power of their positions in solitary, he was stronger and so was Robson.

Should he go along with this plan to eliminate the other prisoner? He didn't give a shit about one more dead con and all the blame would go onto this one if it had to come to that. Did Alvarez really need his help? Seeing the wreck he was after the rape he guessed he was desperate to gain anyone's help to prevent it from happening again and who better than a Hack with a vested interest?

He'd have thought that Alvarez would have gotten Beecher to help him. He laughed to himself, thinking there wouldn't be much help there. Yes, he supposed, he could see why he would come to him, the lesser of two evils from Miguel's point of view. At least the little bitch had never needed to go to the Hospital with him.

But was it worth the effort or the risk? What he did give a shit about, when it finally came down to it, was that he still liked that body. The new scar was a shame but it didn't mar his appearance that much but mainly they had unfinished business. His 'affairs' did not end until he decided it was over. Unless of course the con got executed but that was a one off. You couldn't expect much else shagging someone on Death Row. He thought about Shirley quite often. The bitch had nearly lost him his job but this one had escaped from him, from the prison before he had tired of him.

Oswald's had gotten him back and now so would he. He also had to admit that he had liked it when Alvarez had been 'responsive', when that is, he'd learnt how, what was expected of him. He'd been a fast learner but, he wondered, had Beecher finally been able to teach him how to do that decent 'blowjob? Cause he'd been pretty useless at it but there had been other areas where Alvarez had made up for it in compensation.

Miguel studied Lopresti from behind his arms, his breathing shallow as he waited to see if the man would bite. He held no fear that the Hack would alert anyone of Robson's planned demise and he didn't know any details, only that Alvarez wanted him dead but anyone could have guessed that. He didn't think he would lift a finger to stop them, him he emended, he didn't know of the O'Riely's involvement.

Damn it! The Bastard was just grinning down at him, hands on hips. Fuck! Was it going to take more or should he just cut his loses and continue avoiding him for as long as possible? Eventually he would come for him and he had a useful resource, advantage, being a Hack, no one would look too hard at a prisoner being escorted around the place.

No, Alvarez wanted him in that corridor. He had to play this well as, although Lopresti liked him totally submissive, he'd always seemed to get off on some opposition so he doubted he should beg further. To be totally submissive to another but to have to put up a fight. No wonder he came out of solitary so confused and Fucked up. He'd done everything this man before him had appeared to want him to do but it had never been quite right. He'd been told so and 'punished' enough to let him know he would never be able to do anything right.

'Thankyou once more, Toby for showing me a different way'. He let go of his head and changed his attitude, sitting on the floor with legs streched out, ankles and arms crossed, looking off up to the right as if to say, 'well fuck you then'.

Lopresti also folded his arms. He was quite impressed, it sitting there as if it had a right to be angry with _him_, showing off that place on the jaw, red now, that it knew he liked, resting its head back not paying attention. Also showing to effect the new scar. Lopresti could almost hear the unspoken words, 'see how he cut me? Spoiling me for you? If you don't help me it could well be worse the next time and what then? You still want me then?'

He would have to wrap this up as time was getting on and he needed to be back on the floor, back on view. Making his decision, he crouched down beside 'the body' catching hold of it's jaw. He knew he wouldn't be attacked, the Latino wanted his help for a start, not to mention the psychological advantage he held over it.

As he turned the head, the face looked up hopeful, the lips parting as the tip of the tongue came out to lick them. Lopresti smiled, "You've turned into a good little actor." There was a very slight twitch to the eyes before Miguel began to deny it, "Shut up," sounding unconvinced, "I'll buy your little play," standing up and away, "Get up and tell me how you want me to help you?"

Alvarez sprang up in an attempt to express relief and gratitude. A hand to his stomach pushed him back hard against the wall and Lopresti was pressing up against him, covering him. As hands held his head, Miguel's own automatically went to press palms to the wall at his sides and he bit at his bottom lip.

Some things learnt hard, were not easily forgotten.

When Lopresti finally released the mouth thinking on how he had missed those particular lips, he said, "So, tell me."

==000==

TBC...


	38. Chapter 38

"Alvarez!" the guard up at the station called him over, looking at the clipboard. "You got an appointment."

"Where'm I goin'?"

"You'll find out," and he beckoned over the nearest officer. Lopresti's hand on his arm didn't feel threatening this time and soon he would never have to worry about it again. He didn't bother to ask what excuse his escort had used to get them both out here, as with his heart racing, he skipped down the service stairs leading the way to the corridor they had chosen for the 'deed'.

Lopresti was tardier, smirking at Alvarez who waited impatiently for him, hand on the door. "Tell me why you expect Robson to come down here." It seemed unlikely that the man would just walk into Alvarez' trap unprepared.

Turning his back, Miguel drew a short piece of metal he'd brought to jimmy the lock. That was his 'chore' before the others came. It wouldn't take much, these service doors were a piece of piss. "He accidentally overheard that it's a place me 'n' Tob...me 'n' Beecher use." Lopresti took the pause as reticence in speaking of his 'lover' as he'd already shown how easy it was for him to get at the man, but Alvarez was shaken. The lock was already broken.

Crap! Was Robson already there lying in wait with backup instead of the other way around? Swapping the metal for the shank retrieved from his waistband, it wasn't as if the Hack would be surprised at it's presence, he took a breath saying softly, "Com'on" and hearing that baton being drawn, pushed the door open, quickly moving in, blade ready to defend or better to attack. Three steps and he froze, stunned, trying to take in the scene before him.

It all happened so fast. Alvarez was pulled violently forwards and pushed to the wall by O'Riely as stepping around him Beecher drove his long jagged blade up, deep into Lopresti's chest, his other hand grabbing the back of the startled man's neck, pulling him further onto the shank and into the corridor. Cyril closed the door and stood nervously by the wide eyed Alvarez.

Lopresti sank to his knees, the baton falling to the ground as he feebly tried to hold onto Beecher. Miguel never wanted to see that look on Toby's face again. It wasn't the Toby he knew as he gave one last upwards pull to the shank, breaking off the grip, then stood back to watch as the Hack breathed his last before falling to the ground.

He laughed looking to Alvarez who just stood staring back in horror. The smile fled from his face. O'Riely let go of him and he moved to Beecher looking around him. Robson was without a doubt, dead. He'd put up a fight judging by the amount of defensive wounds and appeared almost butchered but the other three were relatively unscathed.

Beecher stripped off his bloodied fleece, throwing it to Cyril who stuffed it in a bag and turning, was grabbed by Miguel. He turned back at the hands clutching up his T-shirt on his chest and stood unresponsive as Miguel pushed and pulled at him. "You Fuckin' Bastard. You knew this was my kill!"

Beecher grabbed hold of his wrists, forcing him back, the hand still holding the remains of his blade which was close to cutting him. He grabbed the back of Miguel's head, repeating the action of moments before, pulling him close and said steadily into his ear, eyes fixed on the watching brothers, "Now you know how I felt!" and releasing him, stepped away. Miguel sagged, rocking on unsteady legs.

Ryan once more pulled Miguel to the side, hissing, "Beecher. Move it," and they got busy, arranging things and cleaning up.

Changing into identical clothes, all the bloodstained ones were collected along with any trace of their presence. Nodding satisfied at the story left behind with the rough taped shank grip as if fallen from Robson's hand, Ryan signalled the retreat and Beecher had to drag Alvarez from moving to Robson's corpse. "Enough, we're gone."

"No. I have to..."

"No. We go now!"

"But the eyes! I..." and Toby had to practically pick him up, dragging him back and out into the stairwell.

"Don't fight me, Miguel," he ordered as he struggled to release his arms from Beecher's encircling grip.

"Fuck this. Com'on, Cyril, we're outta here." Ryan had had more than enough.

"Wait!" hissed Beecher as Alvarez went limp. "Miguel? How did you get Lopresti down here?"

"He brought me. Why?"

"Fuck!" from both Beecher and O'Riely.

Realisation struck as Beecher released him. "No… They saw him take me out of Em City!"

"What'd he say? How'd he get you out?" questioned Ryan.

"I dunt... I dunt know! I was told I had an appointment. No one said why." He was beginning to panic, swaying from foot to foot and grabbing at his head.

The last thing O'Riely, any of them needed, he thought was Alvarez going loco on them. He took charge, thinking on his feet, which he'd had to become so good at. "Put your shank away," he instructed and slipped back into the corridor.

"¡¿Qué?" Alvarez said bewildered after him. Beecher gently took hold of his wrists, pulling his arms down as Miguel turned frightened eyes to his saying, "Toby?" in a small voice.

"It'll be alright. I've not done all this to lose you now." He took the blade from his unresisting hand and, turning him, replaced it in his jean's waistband knowing exactly where he kept it.

Ryan was back with the Hack's handcuffs. "Alvarez, come here."

"No. No way, man," as Ryan grabbed his arm, dragging him stumbling up a flight of stairs and, against opposition, with Beecher's help, cuffed him to the handrail.

"!¿Qué pinches putos? What the fuck you doin'?" his voice rising in pitch. "Don't you fuckin' leave me here? Toby?" he couldn't believe what they were doing and he pulled hard on the cuffs.

Pushing Beecher to move back down the stairs, Ryan told him, "Just shut the fuck up and listen."

"But the shank... They'll find the shank. They'll think I did it!" not being able to think.

"If you still got it… you ain't used it. Now listen."

Beecher stared into Miguel's eyes that were pleading with him. No, he didn't want to leave him there sitting on a step, cuffed to the railings. He looked so helpless. A tugging on his sleeve and he looked to Cyril. "Beecher. I hear someone." Footsteps descending.

"O'Riely," he called low, "We go now!" and left Alvarez watching him in disbelief then looking up to watch for the descending footsteps. He hoped it was Hacks. Being found like this by another con would not be good. Hell, being found like this was not good at all.

==000==

TBC...


	39. Chapter 39

"I dint fuckin' do _nothin'!_" Alvarez repeated as he was pushed down, recuffed this time behind him, back into the chair. He'd been in this room for nearly an hour before McManus had turned up.

"So, that means that you did do something? Or are you saying that you didn't? Your tenses are mixed up." McManus leant on the table across from him as Murphy took up a position behind, for once no humour evident on his face.

" I did not do any…thing," each word as clear and precise as he could manage.

"Officer Lopresti escorts you out of Em City. Within twenty minutes, he's found dead. Robson is found dead, and we all know you had 'problems' with him. You're cuffed to the stairwell. What happened?"

Alvarez' nervousness had since turned to anger. 'Be cool', he told himself, but it wasn't going to happen. 'Ryan O'Riely, you fucking fuck, you'd better be fuckin' right about this!' But he could think of nothing better to say. "I dunt know. I was cuffed to the fuckin' railings for Fucksakes. How the Fuck should I know?"

"Language!" from behind him. He just sneered.

McManus fixed him with a stare, "You do know!"

"I dun't!" and a string of swearwords to the side, over his shoulder that Murphy's Spanish was not up to.

"Sit still!" and McManus slammed the table. Alvarez jumped then slumped down in the chair wincing at the pain. McManus stood back attempting to calm down, but an Officer was _dead!_ "So you must know how you got cuffed? Why did he take you out of Em City?" There was an answer but, "Don't mumble. Speak up."

"I dunt know. Was told I had an appointment. I asked but they wouldn't say where or who with."

"Who wouldn't?"

"Some 'Officer'. I dunt know."

McManus waited. "Then what?" he practically screamed.

"I was dragged into the stairwell and the Bastard cuffed me there!" Alvarez resumed fidgeting, his whole side hurt and the chair was damn hard.

"Why?"

Silence.

McManus sighed, "Fine. Murphy take him to solitary till we sort this out."

"No. I ain't Fuckin' done nothin'!" and he was up, backing against the wall furthest from the door, ready to fight all the way. All this to end back in solitary? No fuckin' way!

Murphy had seen Tim's signal so stood his ground. McManus had hazarded that that would get a reaction. "Then just tell me before Glynn arrives 'n' sends you there anyway." Alvarez rocked against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Why did Officer Lopresti take you there?"

Miguel hung his head. He didn't want to admit what Lopresti had done to him. He had to keep their past out of this or they would never believe that he wasn't involved in the death of both men. "He cuffed me. Told me to wait," he sighed in defeat.

"He tell you why?"

"Si," trying to hug himself but of course he couldn't. He turned to lean his shoulder and head against the wall.

"Miguel. Just tell us what happened." Tim was looking at Murphy who had raised his eyebrows. He'd known there was something not right between guard and prisoner.

"He..." licking his lips nervously, "He said, 'Someone's waiting for you'. And that, 'I was going to be in for a good time'. Then he left me there."

"And?"

Alvarez rocked his head against the wall. He'd been told he'd turned into a good actor. Use it now. "And he went thru the door," no need to say which one.

"And?"

"And what?" righteous anger fixing McManus "I… dun't… _know!_ I can't see thru no fuckin' _wall!_"

McManus just waited this time, until Alvarez slumped back against the wall and admitted, "Heard some shoutin'. Couldn't make it out. Went quiet." In a quieter voice they had to stretch for, "Thought he was goin' come take me. That it was goin' to happen again."

Murphy asked in an almost gentle voice, "Miguel. It was Robson that raped you, wasn't it?"

Alvarez nodded. Why deny it when they already knew?

"Was Lopresti involved in that?"

He didn't know if he dared to say he was, Miguel had no idea as to where Lopresti was that day. He slid down the wall, curling against it as much as he could, hiding his face and let them think what they wanted.

McManus studied him, considering. It didn't look like they would get much more out of him. Signalling Sean, they left the room and turning to a waiting officer, "Watch him and, do me a favour, make sure he doesn't 'accidentally' fall into anything again, will ya?"

The Hack just ducked into the room. What the hell did the jerk expect? They'd just found a fellow Officer murdered.

=0=

The whole prison was in 'Lockdown', yet again. First Unit B due to a mass brawl, started for who knew what reason, then the rest of the blocks when the bodies were found.

Tim took his turn to collapse against a wall, scrubbing at his face. It had taken awhile to get them all back into their cells. These men were all over the place, no one seeming to be where they should be. There was going to have to be greater controls and a tighter watch on the men's movements.

"Fuck!" he said to Sean and the air in general. "So what do you think?"

Murphy considered before he answered, "I told ya'. I thought Alvarez seemed 'scared' of Lopresti. Maybe he did have dealings with Robson?" he shrugged, "It's been known. Could have been givin' him another go at him. Argued. Killed each other. S'possible."

"You don't sound convinced?"

Another shrug. "It looked like that's what happened but, it _looked_ like that. Y'know what I mean? Something about Robson's corpse. Someone was mad at him, really mad at him!"

"Where were the others found?"

"Others?"

"Come on, Sean. Beecher, the O'Rielys, Brusmalis. They're practically inseparable lately."

"Brusmalis? Easy, been in Hospital ward since lunch. Beechers' been running errands for Pete, sorting out her office. You know she's not good at that sort of thing. Seen all over the place, stationary room, fetchin' paper 'n' stuff, fetchin' carrying. And the O'Rielys are in the 'Hole'. Last I heard Cyril was screaming the place down." His humour was slowly beginning to return.

Tim looked at him, the question evident, "Come the 'Lockdown', Ryan O'Riely was found in the kitchen passing on drugs," and of course Cyril would have been with him.

"So," Tim surmised, "Beecher was on the loose?"

Murphy shook his head. "Doubt he had the time. All the Officers have been questioned. He was seen a lot, always going somewhere, carrying stuff. Come 'Lockdown' he was walking with Sister Pete to the drug group and with all the blood about in that corridor, last time I saw him he was still wearing the same as all day. And Tim, do you really think he would've left Alvarez there?"

Tim considered as he stared through the window at the back of Alvarez who was fidgeting whilst keeping a wary eye on the Hack. He nodded. "Okay. Leave him there another hour or two and keep changing the Guards in case they get bored and decide, well, you know what happened last time, every time, an Officer is killed." Then he left a nodding Chief Officer and went to face Glynn.

==000==

Beecher resumed pacing the Pod. By the time they were in 'Lockdown' near everyone knew what had happened. Although he knew where Miguel was, or had been, he wasn't supposed to so he put on a show of concern, which as time passed became genuine.

That the O'Riely brothers were also missing was making him even more nervous but the authorities couldn't know what they'd done or he too wouldn't be here. He sat, stared at the floor, stood, sat then put his head in his hands. He prayed that Miguel was holding up and that nothing had happened to him at the discovery of the bodies. Then he heard the pneumatic hiss and looked up hopeful that Miguel was back but no, it was McManus.

No, oh no, not a visit, please? His face went hard as he prepared for the news but Tim wasn't wearing his 'oh so concerned' look. He looked pissed.

"I take it you've heard about the deaths?"

He just nodded. 'Tell me about Miguel', he thought, that's all he cared about.

"You're a reasonable man. When you want to be. Tell me, what was going on between Alvarez and Officer Lopresti?"

"Nothing. Why?" No one had mentioned Alvarez in connection to the bodies but he could tell that all the men watching them from their Pods were already making connections.

McManus just stood and looked at him tiredly. God, he was so tired. What was the point? He turned to leave.

"McManus," he called, standing up. Tim turned back. "You've got to tell me. What's happened to him this time? Where is he?" the look of fear was genuine.

Tim shook his head, he'd had too much of having to confront Tobias Beecher's grief. "Ask him yourself," and he left.

What? But he only had to wait a couple of minutes, a couple of the longest ever, and a bruised and obviously very disgruntled, Alvarez was pushed into the Pod.

==000==

The look of relief on Beecher's face was not matched by the dark look coming from under Miguel's brows. As Toby reached a hand towards him, he pulled back his shoulder, "Don't touch me!" and continued to send him daggers.

Beecher supposed he wouldn't be greeted with hearts and flowers, but he was just so glad he'd gotten him back. He had hope that now they'd finally gotten rid of the ones most likely to harm them that they could have a time of peace together. No doubt there still would be some questioning but usually, if the culprit wasn't caught within the hour, or indeed 'red handed', they never were.

He let out a breath, retreated and sat on his footlocker waiting for whatever Alvarez would do. He noticed Murphy checking on them for the second time and Alvarez still hadn't moved but just stared almost hypnotically at him. At least his eyes were moving and he blinked. Beecher remembered another time when he'd looked at him like this. He had to break this tableau. "What happened?" simple, level voiced.

"You left me there," so cold.

"Miguel, we had to."

"You Fuckin' left me there. You Bastard!" still cold, almost frozen, which he was.

Beecher slowly stood to face him. He was unsure, as he'd never had to face an Alvarez like this, to face this 'Alvarez'. He raised his hand to touch his cheek but he turned it from him. But at least he hadn't moved away. He let his hand fall onto Miguel's shoulder, ready to retreat if need be.

Miguel's head turned and he looked at the hand than at Beecher. His eyes seemed to soften slightly but that was all. Tobias raised his hand and, ignoring the possible consequences, just had to run the back of his fingers down that cheek.

"Don't," Miguel told him.

He removed his hand but took heart at the slight tilt of the head into his fingers but it was possibly instinctive now.

"You know why I did it don't you? Why I didn't want you there?"

"That was my kill and you knew that,"

"Miguel you have never murdered!"

"I've killed."

"But in self defence."

"I deserved to kill that Bastard. Both of them," but there was something more that Beecher had prevented him from doing. "You robbed me of my revenge."

"Just as you did me."

"But I had to. I told you why."

"And you can't understand why I did this also?"

Miguel turned away disgusted at him. "You dint think I could do it. That's it in't it?" His anger was gaining fuel, "You din't think I was strong enough."

"No. I.."

Miguel sneered, "Yes, it is. You still think I'm that pathetic thing you found! But I'm not! You robbed me. You made me break my vow!"

Beecher was lost. Vow? What vow? He'd seen how panicked Miguel had been when confronted with the body of Robson. He didn't think him pathetic but he had worried that Miguel would be unable to 'go through with it' if confronted with Robson alive. He'd just sensed what that would have done to him.

Seeing how he acted around Lopresti, he'd thought that it would have been multiplied faced with Robson. Yes, Alvarez had expected them to be there as back up but honestly? Yes, he didn't think he would have been strong enough, emotionally, if not in body.

"What vow?" He remembered him going on about eyes as he'd dragged him away but hadn't thought about it at the time being more concerned with getting them out of there. Now he thought, 'eyes'.

At the thought of that vow and when he'd made it, Miguel started to shiver. He tried desperately to hold onto his anger but then looking at Toby from the corner of his eye, he remembered the man that had rocked him as he had spoken of his ordeal and held him until he'd sobbed it out.

Toby noticed the voice lose its coldness and, although the words didn't express it, his voice did plead that he understand. "You know what Robson and the others did to me. I told you all but one thing." He stopped as he felt Toby move to him. "When I was there, having to kneel and stare...stare up into those eyes while he... when he...At that moment I vowed I would take those eyes."

He was shaking his head slowly side to side, watching a different place. "Not for someone else. Not for some stupid attempt to fit in, be accepted as what I was… what I am, like before but... For me! The last thing he ever saw was to be me, Miguel Alvarez. And I wanted to see the horror in his eyes, as he knew he was going to die by my hand just as he must have seen the horror in mine.

"He laughed. He laughed at me." He turned away, head down, closing his own eyes as he reluctantly let Toby encircle him from behind but he was stiff. "You robbed me of that."

Beecher didn't regret, as he saw it, shielding Miguel, protecting someone he loved in the only way he could but he could understand his anger. He got some of the references to the time Miguel had blinded Rivera but not all. There was so much about him he didn't know but that was okay. He'd accepted him, all of him.

"For that I'm sorry. I understand but think on this? If you had gone through with that, don't you think McManus and Glynn would have realised you were there? Believe me, I didn't want to leave you on that stairwell. But I have to admit, though it pains me, O'Riely was right. It was the only way we had to keep you from taking the fall for this. To keep them from taking you away, away from me."

Miguel slumped. He saw the sense but still it hurt. Then Beecher suddenly let him go and moved away. His anger sparked again, spinning around then saw him staring out of the Pod. He followed his look to see Murphy who shook his head at them then moved off. It appeared he wouldn't be turning a 'blind eye' to their Pod anymore.

Alvarez then noticed that Murphy was not the only one watching them as men stood by the windows peering across in at them. Even their neighbours looked coherent enough to be taking an interest. He threw himself to sit on the bunk, arms clutching his stomach.

Beecher was afraid he would begin to rock but then Miguel turned to look up at him, "Toby?"

Leaning against the sink, he relaxed his arms then moved to sit next to him but saw the slight shake of his head. So, back on the footlocker, he waited but took heart in the use and tone of his name.

"Toby. I don't think I'll ever be able to ... forgive you, but, I think I understand." Then he dropped his head.

Beecher leant forward and grasped his knee. Miguel flinched. He withdrew his hand saddened. Miguel hadn't done that for a while now. Miguel shook his head again, nearly apologised but stopping himself, stood and began to undress. Past normal 'Lockdown', they weren't going anywhere and standing in nothing but his boxers, even removing his Bandanna almost reluctantly, stood so Toby could see why he'd flinched.

Toby wanted to go to him, to hold him but beginning to rise, saw the slight lift of fingers, no. Miguel was covered in bruises. His arms almost clear, he'd not been able to protect his body as his hands were cuffed behind him.

Seeing the expression on Toby's face, Miguel wanted so much to go to him, comfort him, more be comforted by him but no. Still angry, he had to think now he'd calmed down. Sat in that room had been playing with his head, almost jumping every time a Hack entered.

They kept swapping, each one standing, watching him as if planning more than just pain. He'd been expecting another inquisition but suddenly he was brought back here.

He turned looking at his reflection and for the first time saw what the two Hacks had done to him as he 'fell' down the stairs and onto their batons. At least they'd avoided his head, he just had the mark on his jaw which, even now he hoped that Toby hadn't noticed was there this afternoon.

He caught himself, holding onto the sink and he realised how tired he was, all the stress the anger wiping him out. He moved to go lie on his bunk and saw Toby sat with his head in his hands. He moved to him then stopped the impulse and tentatively lay on his bunk, trying to find a comfortable position. He gave up and just lay on his back, hand on stomach staring up.

Beecher sat looking at him. "Will you talk to me?" He guessed not as Miguel, closing his eyes, turned his face away. He didn't know what to do. He knew what he wanted to do but he didn't know 'this' Miguel. It wasn't the same man that had woken him up that morning with a light kiss. So he sat staring through the floor, once more just waiting.

As the lights went out, Beecher got ready to turn in, wishing that Miguel had spoken to him, yelled at him, anything to let him know. Know if they were going to be okay together. If they were indeed still 'together'. He'd been thinking that the actions today had somehow severed something between them.

Running through so many thoughts on what he could say, it all seemed wrong and talking had never been their best communication. Every time Miguel had moved, Toby had looked to him hopeful but he was just restless in his sleep.

So, resigned that tomorrow was going to be hard, he went to hop up into his bunk but stopped at the hand encircling his thigh. Still holding onto the bunk he gazed down and in at Miguel.

"Kiss me," he said. No requesting, no demanding just a stated desire.

So, smiling, Toby did.

==000==

TBC...


	40. Chapter 40

======Epilogue======

* * *

Miguel Alvarez was feeling pretty damn good. He'd been questioned again over the last few weeks but they all seemed to be free and clear of it. There may still be suspicions about them but there was no proof.

The O'Rielys were back in the kitchen with Ryan going straight back to business but Alvarez had told him he'd better stay out of anything for a while just to be on the safe side. Certain people were still waiting for him to make a slip. Whenever anything happened, he seemed to be questioned about it. Glynn still appeared to have a 'thing' about him.

McManus had finally relented to his repeated request for a work assignment, helped by his sessions with Sister Pete where he'd insisted that he needed something as having nothing to do but sit about was making him brood and remember, although he didn't quite phrase it like that. It was a shit assignment, mopping corridors but he'd soon found a couple of perks.

One was simple. He found the quietness refreshing and the rhythms of the mop soothing. Also he could often sneak a smoke with less chance of being caught. He smiled to himself thinking of this morning as he'd heard the gate slide open. This was the best 'perk'.

Pushing the mop and bucket into the shadows he waited, watching the familiar figure turn the corner. He enjoyed this. Beecher never knew when he would be 'lying in wait' for him. It didn't happen that often, not as often as he wanted but the risk of being caught added to the excitement of Toby's surprise when he could.

He watched him come closer, wary of his surroundings as he stopped, obviously aware that there was someone in the shadow's. Miguel called softly letting him know it was him, "Tobias. Amante, te quirero," and was on him. It was brief, it had to be, but fast and furious as Toby hit the wall, hands everywhere kissing him almost brutally.

Now in the canteen, he looked across at Beecher, giving him a fairly lecherous grin which was returned. He just knew that Toby would _'take' _him tonight. It always wound the man up when he got him going during the day and he'd have to wait. Miguel knew he was in for an enjoyable night.

Heading back into Em City for 'Count' and 'Lockdown', walking close and whispering to Toby, "Quiero que me cojas. Te quiero dentro," the most popular of certain phrases in Spanish that the man had enjoyed learning the meaning of, Beecher suddenly stopped, staring off.

"¿Qué? What is it?" he asked lightly as his eyes followed to look at what had taken his lover's attention.

He should have known. He had been feeling... happy.

Miguel Alvarez froze.

Yet again, his whole world shattered into pieces around him.

Keller was back and he was grinning at Beecher.

==000==THE END==000==

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A/N...

Thankyou for reading and for reading this far!

I hope that you have enjoyed this, one of my earliest stories.

If you have, please let me know. I would be glad to hear from people who still like this show as I do.

Cheers!

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I have two more OZ fictions written that I shall post soon.

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